


The Chessmaster: White Knight

by Flye_Autumne



Series: The Chessmaster [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, POV Multiple, Political AU, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Society, Sane Voldemort, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Hermione Granger, Slytherin Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-02-10 02:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 61,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flye_Autumne/pseuds/Flye_Autumne
Summary: Chessmaster Volume II. Tensions continue to rise both inside and outside Hogwarts with the announcement of the International Scholastic Quidditch Tournament. As international influences begin to creep into British politics, Dumbledore isn’t the only one worried for the future. Thomas Gaunt is concerned as well, but for very different reasons...





	1. A Visit to Gram's

_23 Rose Lane_

_Framlingham, Suffolk, England_

_7 July, 1992_

 

“Hermione! We’re leaving in five minutes to go visit Gram and Grandpa!”

“Coming, Mum.” Hermione slipped a bookmark into _Rise of the Modern Wizard_ and stacked it neatly on her bookshelf with the other four books she’d owl-ordered from Flourish and Blotts. The previous year of school had been informative, to say the least. Between being sorted into Slytherin to making friends with the famous Harry Potter and discovering a mysterious room in the bowels of Hogwarts, Hermione had had a lot on her plate -- and that was without mentioning the entirely new culture she’d been plunged into.

Hermione eyed the stack of books again. Lily and Millie had recommended her a short list of books to help her catch up on the ins and outs of wizarding culture. Hermione had never thought she’d find a book that didn’t interest her, but _The Manners of Polite Society_ by Lucretia Nott, along with _The Essential Handbook on Etiquette_ by Victoria Malfoy, looked like it’d be drier than the Sahara Desert. On the other hand, _Ye Olde Ways_ by Phineas Black, and _The High Holidays_ by Celeste Moon looked positively enthralling.

“Hermione! You need to have your shoes on and be ready to go in one minute!”

Hermione gave the books one last longing glance before heading downstairs.

“Mum, why are we going to Gram and Grandpa’s house again?”  
Helen Granger shot her daughter a disapproving look. “Your grandparents are getting old, Hermione. It’s important that we spend time with them.”

“Yeah, but --”

“No ‘buts’, Hermione,” Jack Granger interrupted. “We’re going to see your mother’s parents. You’re their only grandchild, and they’re excited to see you, especially since you’re away most of the year.”

“Speaking of school, what am I supposed to tell Gram and Grandpa if they ask?”

Helen and Jack exchanged a look. “We’ll tell them as much of the truth as possible,” Helen said. “You’ll tell them you go to Hartwood Hall -- that’s the Muggle cover name for Hogwarts -- and that it’s an exclusive boarding school in Scotland.”

“And if they ask where it is?”

“Say it’s up in the Highlands, a couple hours from Wick.”

Hermione sighed. “Okay. Do you think they’ll ask a lot of questions?”

“About school? I don’t know. In general? Definitely. They’re your grandparents, and we haven’t seen them in a while. They want to get to know you.”

“So I can’t bring a book along?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Not even for the car ride there? It’s over an hour away,” Hermione wheedled.

“Fine -- but under the condition that you leave it in the car.”

Hermione grinned. “Of course, Mum!” She quickly bounded upstairs, grabbed _Rise of the Modern Wizard_ , slipped her feet into her trainers, and followed her parents out the door. Minutes later, they were underway, and Hermione once again had her nose buried in a book. She was only on the introduction, and the book was already completely and utterly fascinating.

_It was a time of great change and upheaval in Europe. The Roman Empire had just fallen, which created a large power vacuum. Powerful wizards and witches, known then as mages, sought to build their own monarchies. In modern-day Scotland, House Gryffindor presided over the Kingdom of Caledonia. The kingdom was governed by the king and advised by the Trifecta, which were the heads of the three most powerful clans. The Caledonians were known as a fierce, loyal people who lived in prosperity for many years under the rule of Geric the Great._

_The Éire Republic, now separated into Northern Ireland and Ireland, was governed by the High Coven. The origin of this government is steeped in Éirish mythology. Legend has it that the first Wizard-King of Ireland was the Dagda. He, along with his wife, the Morrígan, formed the first wizarding government of Ireland in which the Wizard-King ruled hand-in-hand with the Phantom Queen. Before the two passed beyond the Veil, they left their closest advisors in charge. The advisors formed what is now known as the High Coven, which governs Wizarding Ireland. Both the Dagda and the Morrígan are viewed as gods by the modern Irish people._

_Meanwhile, there was a great power struggle occurring in what would soon be called Britannia. The Kingdoms of England and Wales were at war, and the losses climbed higher each day until the advent of Helga the Humble. A little known mage from the English-Welsh border, Helga did not have the stomach for violence, and managed to single-handedly stop the war and unify England and Wales through a series of negotiations and demonstrations of raw power. This proved to be catalytic. In 512 A.D., Helga the Humble, who had been renamed Helga of Hufflepuff, organized a meeting between herself, the king of Caledonia, Godric Gryffindor, and a powerful young mage from the Éire Republic, Rowena of the Ravens. The three met clandestinely, and at the suggestion of Helga, determined they should work to unite their three countries. After several meetings, they determined that a school of magic would be an excellent way to push unification._

_Unfortunately -- or perhaps fortunately, depending on how one evaluates the situation -- they were not as secretive as they thought. Word of a magic school reached the ears of an Iberian mage, Salazar de Slíterin.  Salazar, along with his wife Amalia, his son Damián, and his close friend and confidant, Baron Sebastián Amare, journeyed to find the three wizards intent on creating a magic school. Eventually, Salazar found the three and impressed them enough with his skill in runic magic and wards that they allowed him to co-found the school with them. Salazar’s name was anglicized, and he would henceforth be known as Salazar of Slytherin._

“Hermione! Find a good stopping point in your book! We’re almost there!”

“But Mum, I’m at a really good part!”

“Sorry, sweetie. Put a bookmark in. The book will still be here when we drive home.”

Grumbling, Hermione placed her bookmark and stared out the car window. The words on the desk in the secret library made sense now. She’d been wondering why they’d said _Salazar de Slíterin_ instead of _Salazar Slytherin_ , but now it made sense. Salazar de Slíterin was the wizard’s original name, whereas Salazar Slytherin was the one the other founders gave him.

The question was, what were the implications of this? If Salazar had built the secret room with the help of the other founders, he probably wouldn’t have signed his desk in the first place, and much less signed it with his original Iberian name. So, Salazar must have built the secret room in secret…

The car shook slightly as it rolled up a long dirt driveway, and Hermione sighed. It was time to visit the grandparents. The car stopped in front of the small white cottage belonging to Victoria and Tristan Sanders. Hermione heaved another sigh. She did _not_ like talking to old people -- it was just so _boring_.

“Hermione, I can hear you sighing back there.”

“I --”

“Quit the drama.”

“Fine.”

Hermione slumped her way out of the car and followed her parents up to the front door. Helen rapped sharply on the door, and moments later, it opened amid the delicious scent of freshly baked challah. A small smile worked its way onto Hermione’s face. Maybe this wouldn’t be _so_ bad, if there was freshly baked Jewish food. Maybe her Gram had also made hamantaschen. They were technically holiday cookies, but they were also Hermione’s most favorite baked good ever…

“Helen! Jack! It’s so good to see you!” Gram exclaimed. “And Hermione! You’ve grown so tall! Come here, and give me a hug.”

Hermione obliged. “Did you make hamantaschen, Gram?”

“I was just about to start them -- I was thinking you could help me make them this time, yes?”

Hermione grinned. “Sure! As long as I can be the quality control sampler.”

Gram chuckled. “Of course, dear. Come inside, all of you.”  

They did, and after shouting an obligatory hello to her grandpa, Hermione followed Gram into the kitchen.

“Alright, Hermione, the first thing we’re going to do is make the dough. If you could get out three eggs from the fridge and the sugar from the corner cupboard…”

In almost no time, Hermione was whisking the eggs in sugar, then stirring in the flour and baking powder. Once the dough became stiff, they plopped it onto the flour-covered countertop to roll, and then cut into triangles.

“Did you make these with your mum when you were my age?” Hermione asked.

Gram frowned slightly. “No.”

“No?”

“Hermione, you remember how I grew up in Russia?”

“Yes.”

“It was a dangerous time to be Jewish in Russia. Jews were viewed as less-human the rest, and many were persecuted.”

Hermione was eerily reminded of many of the purebloods’ views of muggleborns.

“I eventually had to flee the country because of my beliefs. I was sixteen, then. I met your grandfather shortly after arriving in Britain, and we got married several years later.”

“Do you have any pictures?”

“Of when I was your age, no. I have an album of ones with me and your grandfather, though. I can find them when we’re done baking.”

Hermione spooned raspberry preserves onto the cookies, and Gram popped them in the oven.

“Alright, we’re all set here, let’s go join your grandfather and your parents.”

They headed towards the living room, and Gram excused herself momentarily to go find pictures.

“Done with the cookies already, Hermione?” Helen asked.

“Uh huh! We made raspberry ones this time.”

“Sounds delicious!”

Hermione nodded.

“How’s school going, Hermione?” Grandpa asked. “Your mum and dad were telling me

that you got into a special boarding school up in the Scottish Highlands.”

Hermione nodded again. “Yes, I did. It’s called Hartwood Hall, and it’s really great!”

“And you’re learning lots?”

“Oh, definitely!” Hermione enthused. “The, er, science teacher is really strict, but very knowledgeable about his subject,” she ad-libbed. “I got to take an astronomy class this year, too! We went out at midnight once a week to look at the stars through a telescope!”

“Must be some posh sort of school!”

“I suppose,” Hermione allowed.

“Are you making lots of friends?” Gram asked, walking back into the room with a large album.

“Uh huh. I’m close to two of my roommates, Lily and Millie, and there’s also my friends Harry and Ron.”

“And do these people have surnames?”

“Yeah. Er, Lily Moon, Millie Bulstrode, Harry Potter --”

**_CRASH._ **

Hermione jumped.

Gram gave a weak laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me. Old age, perhaps.” She stooped to pick up the photos. “And who was your last friend?”

“Ron Weasley.”

“That’s nice. And are these boyfriends?”

“ _No!_ ”

The adults chuckled, and Hermione folded her arms.

“They’re _just friends_ ,” she said crossly.

“Of course they are, dear,” Gram said placatingly. “Now, do you want to look at the

photos, or --”

“Yes!”

“Be careful, the album is very old.”

Hermione gingerly opened the faded red cover.

“That was me and your grandfather on our wedding day,” Gram remembered fondly.

“You’re so pretty, Gram! I wish _my_ hair would do that,” Hermione said, looking

enviously at the perfectly sculpted curls.

“Yours will, one day. My hair was just as wild as yours when I was your age.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Hermione sighed. “I wish you had pictures of you then. It’d be nice to see some, uh, _evidence_.”

“I also wish I still had pictures. Alas, I had to leave them behind when I fled Russia.”

“Why’d you have to leave them behind?”

“I left very suddenly -- my parents were planning on marrying me to a man they believed would protect me. Unfortunately, I knew him better and saw him for what he was -- a cruel, cold man.”

“And then what?” Hermione asked.

“And then I fled Russia and ended up here with your lovely grandfather.”

They gave each other sappy smiles, and Hermione winced. She did _not_ need to see her grandparents making goo goo eyes. She looked back to the album and began flipping through the pages. There was Mum as a little baby, then as a toddler. There was Gram, helping toddler Mum walk -- Gram’s hair did look a bit bushier here, and a little more like Hermione’s…

Hermione happily looked through the rest of the album, then stopped on the last page. There was something stuck in the binding.

“Gram? There’s something stuck here.” It looked like the edge of a photograph. Hermione cautiously wiggled it free. A curly-haired girl stared out of the picture at her. “Gram, is this you?” Hermione asked, examining the picture closer. The girl was standing in front of Big Ben, and was squinting slightly at the camera. If it weren’t for the old-fashioned dress, the girl could have easily been mistaken for Hermione’s sister.

Hermione flipped the picture over. The words _Viktoriya Dvorkina, London, 1943_ were scrawled across the back. “Gram?”

“May I see it?”

Hermione wordlessly handed the photo over.

“It’s been so long since I saw this...yes, Hermione, this is me.”

“Why is your name spelled so funny?”

“It was originally in Russian. I anglicized it when I got married.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t seen this photo in many years. Thank you for finding it, Hermione.”

“You’re welcome.”

A buzzer dinged from in the kitchen.

“That’d be the hamantaschen.”

Gram bustled off, and Hermione stared off in thought. Something was odd about the photo, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Shrugging, Hermione walked off to the kitchen. There were freshly baked cookies to eat. 


	2. The Unexpected Saviour

 

_ 4 Privet Drive _

_ Little Whinging, Surrey, England _

_ 18 July, 1992 _

 

Harry Potter, of 4 Privet Drive, was a perfectly abnormal boy. For one thing, he was a wizard, and second, he lived in the cupboard under the stairs at his aunt and uncle’s house. Said aunt and uncle were busily preparing for the arrival of his uncle’s sister, Marge, and Harry was desperately trying to ignore them. Unfortunately, that was rather difficult to do with the amount of dithering Aunt Petunia undertook while preparing for guests. Harry could easily hear the obnoxious staccato click of her heels against the linoleum, and it kept breaking his concentration. That, and the way his trunk formed a slight bump in the middle of his cot. 

Harry heaved a sigh. The Dursleys had  _ graciously _ allowed him to store Hedwig and her cage in Dudley’s second bedroom, but deemed the rest of Harry’s school equipment ‘too nasty’ to be allowed in with ‘precious Dinky Duddydums’ special toys. Harry had attempted to point out that all of the ‘special toys’ were really just broken junk, but, to make a long story short, Aunt Petunia hadn’t been pleased. 

Harry flipped to the next page of  _ One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _ . The book was drier than Uncle Vernon’s infamous attempt to make chicken, but it was something to read. Besides, if his mind was full of thoughts of magical herbs and fungi, he’d definitely be less likely to snap at the pure idiocy of Aunt Marge. 

A sudden rap sounded on his door. 

“Boy! Get up!” bellowed Uncle Vernon before waddling onward to what sounded like the kitchen. 

Harry rolled over, buried his face in his pillow and contemplated screaming into the void for several long seconds. If it was time for him to come out of his cupboard, then Aunt Marge would almost be at Privet Drive. And, if Aunt Marge was at Privet Drive, her favorite dog Ripper would be there as well. 

Harry shuddered. There’d been numerous occasions when Ripper had chased him up a tree, leaving him stranded there for several minutes (or hours) while the Dursleys had a good laugh. 

Heaving a sigh, Harry unlatched his cupboard door and rolled carefully out the door. After closing it, he headed to the kitchen where he discovered that -- as usual -- Dudley had put all of  _ his _ raisins into  _ Harry’s _ porridge. 

“No better way to start the day,” Harry muttered sarcastically. 

“What was that, boy?”

Harry jumped. “Er, nothing.”

“Hmph,” Uncle Vernon said, clearly in disbelief. “Now I don’t suppose you remember what I told Marge about your --” he sneered “-- schooling.” 

Harry stirred his porridge. “I attend St. Brutus’ Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys,” he said dully. 

Uncle Vernon chortled before vanishing behind his newspaper.

Harry took a bite of his porridge and nearly spat it out. “Dudley, did you put salt in my porridge?” 

Dudley, who had less cunning that a first year Hufflepuff had in their smallest toe, snickered. “No.”

“Well, saying as it’s _highly_ _unlikely_ that Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia put salt in my porridge, I’d argue that it’s _highly likely_ that _you_ did!” 

Dudley snickered again. “No, I didn’t.”

Uncle Vernon peered over the top of his paper. “What are you shouting about now, boy?”

“Dudley put salt in my porridge!” 

“No I didn’t!”

“He didn’t do it. Didn’t you just hear him say that?”

“But --”

“Don’t argue with me, boy.” 

Harry stared unhappily at his now-ruined porridge. “I suppose I’m not hungry, then,” he said before excusing himself to the kitchen. Dodging Aunt Petunia, Harry scraped his bowl into the rubbish and nicked an apple from the counter before heading upstairs to clean out Hedwig’s cage. 

“I’m leaving now to get Marge from the train station,” rumbled Uncle Vernon from downstairs. “Dudley, you want to come with?”

“No, I’ve got to catch up on  _ The Great Humberto.  _ Mum recorded the latest episode for

me last night.”

The front door slammed, and moments later the car roared out of the driveway. Harry resumed scrapping Hedwig’s droppings out of the bottom of the cage. 

“There’s going to be a lot of shouting here soon,” Harry said softly. 

Hedwig hooted sympathetically. 

“Aunt Marge is visiting, you see, and while Uncle Vernon does a lot of shouting on his

own, Aunt Marge does a whole lot more, especially if she’s had a bit to drink.” 

Hedwig clicked her beak.

“Yeah, I wish she wouldn’t come over, too. I have to tell her I attend St. Brutus Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, for Merlin’s sake. It’s just so terribly unfair!” 

Hedwig hooted again. 

“I’ve got to go downstairs now -- got to throw these dropping away and make myself presentable for Aunt Marge, you know. I’ll try to be up here again soon. I miss you.” 

By the time Harry had thrown out the rubbish and changed into his ‘nice’ clothes, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were standing at attention by the front door. Aunt Petunia was wearing some sort of floral dress that made her look like some grandmother’s old carpet, and Dudley looked like a sausage stuffed in a casing several sizes too small. An uncomfortable silence filled the air, only to be punctured by the crunching of car tires against gravel. Doors slammed open and shut, then lumbering steps slapped their way up the walkway. 

“Get the door!” Aunt Petunia hissed.

Feeling like he was about to meet his impending doom, Harry pulled the door open to reveal Aunt Marge. As usual, Harry was stuck by the strong resemblance between the Dursley siblings; both Vernon and Marge were rather large, mustachioed individuals (although Uncle Vernon’s moustache was far more prodigious) who had the tendency to turn an odd shade of violet when properly incensed. 

Aunt Marge shoved her large suitcase into Harry and proceeded past him to envelop Dudley in a bone-crushing hug. “My little neffy-poo has grown since I last saw him!” Marge boomed, before moving on to greet Aunt Petunia. 

“Will you take tea, Marge?” Uncle Vernon asked. “And does Ripper want anything?”

“Yes, to the tea. And whiskey too, if you have it. Ripper can drink out of my saucer.” 

The Dursleys wandered off into the kitchen, leaving Harry to haul Aunt Marge’s suitcase up into the spare bedroom. He took his own sweet time heading back to the kitchen, not wanting to spend a single extra second in the presence of Aunt Marge.

“More whiskey in your tea, Marge?”

“Just a smidge -- a little more -- ah, that’s good!” Aunt Marge took a large swig of the steaming beverage and belched enormously. “Now, Dudley, I’m glad to see you’re a good strong lad following in your father’s footsteps. You look like you’ve been getting along well at Smeltings -- I trust you’ve smacked a good number of idiots with that stick of yours?”

Dudley nodded vigorously. “Got a detention once for it. It was worth it though.”

Aunt Marge tsked. “Detention, for smacking someone who ruddy well deserved it? Complete and utter poppycock, in my opinion. How else will my boy grow up to be big and strong with having all these namby-pamby detentions?” 

Dudley frowned. He was obviously thinking, and it looked like hard work. “It wasn’t such a big deal. I’d do it again.”

“Atta boy!” 

Dudley grinned and proceeded to shovel several biscuits into his mouth. Harry cringed slightly. Crabbe and Goyle were by far the messiest people in Harry’s dorm, and they looked like pureblood princes in comparison to Dudley. 

“Now, you…” Aunt Marge turned her beady eyes to Harry, who gulped. “Vernon tells me you’re attending St. Brutus.”

“Er, yeah,” Harry said awkwardly, not sure what Aunt Marge was trying to get at.

“I’ve heard it’s a first-rate institution for hopeless cases. Do they use the cane on you, boy?” 

Uncle Vernon nodded fervently behind Aunt Marge’s back.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “All the time.”

“Hmph. I don’t think I like your tone there, boy. But, then again, there’s some things even

force won’t fix. I see it with my dogs all the time...if there’s something wrong with the bitch, then there’s something wrong with the pup.” 

Harry took a deep breath.  _ Don’t get mad. Don’t get mad. Think of it as a test -- you’ve got to keep your temper… _

“Anyway,” Aunt Marge was saying, “I had to have one pup put down last year. It was a nasty, runty little thing.” She glared at Harry, seemingly daring him to say something. When he didn’t, she pushed onwards. “It all comes down to blood, you know -- now I’m not saying anything about your family, Petunia, but there’s always one runty one in the litter, one apple to spoil the bunch, as they say. That was your sister, for sure. Not your fault and nothing you can do about it, then she ran off with that wastrel. You can see that unfortunate result right before us…”

Harry bit inside of his cheek.  _ Don’t get angry. Don’t rise. If the Dursleys knew who your father really was, they’d be singing an entirely different tune… _

“This  _ Potter _ ,” Aunt Marge spat. “I don’t suppose he did anything for work.” 

“He was unemployed,” Uncle Vernon said, looking slightly uncomfortable. He and Aunt Petunia didn’t as much criticize Harry’s parents as they whinged about them leaving an ungrateful burden on their doorstep.

“As I expected! A good-for-nothing scrounger, living off of the leavings of hardworking folk, weighing down the system…”

“He didn’t.”

Four pairs of eyes swiveled towards Harry.

“ _ What _ did you say, boy?” Aunt Marge asked, tone dangerous.

“He did  _ not _ live off of others.”

“Boy, leave the room,” Uncle Vernon bellowed.

“No, he should stay!” Aunt Marge shouted back. “I suppose you’re proud of your parents then, boy? Got themselves killed in a car crash -- driving drunk, most likely. Not that I’m surprised in the slightest…”

Harry gritted his teeth. He’d never felt so angry in his entire life. “You have no idea who my parents were,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level. “My father was not unemployed because he was  _ lazy _ . He didn’t have to work because he came from old money.”

Aunt Marge laughed, face turning puce. “Do you hear him? Thinks his family came from old money, eh? If that’s the case, then why did your worthless parents leave your here, eh? No money left? Idiots spent it all on drink and drugs, I suppose, and left you, their disgusting, insolent, lazy…” 

Harry suddenly found himself on his feet, pointing an accusing finger at the offending woman. Aunt Marge paused, seemingly swelling with anger -- only she didn’t stop. Her puce face started to expand, growing like a fancy balloon at a fair. Buttons pinged off her jacket, ricocheting off the walls. Her fingers began to expand until they were truly sausage-like, and her stomach threatened to break free of her clothes. 

“MARGE!” Aunt Petunia shrieked, tripping over a chair as she hurried towards the now spherical woman. “MARGE!”

Harry watched in horror as Aunt Marge floated out of her chair -- it was a miracle she managed to get out of it, given how fat she was -- and towards the ceiling. 

“NOOOOO!” Uncle Vernon yelled as Ripper skittered back into the room, barking loudly. 

Harry gulped, and made a run for it. 

“COME BACK HERE, BOY, AND PUT HER RIGHT!” Uncle Vernon shouted.

Harry ignored him, and wrenched the door to his cupboard open, frantically pulled out his trunk, and was halfway to the front door when Uncle Vernon seized him by the scruff of the neck. 

“I don’t think so,” he said nastily, face a peculiar shade of purple. “You get in the cupboard right now, and I’ll  _ think _ about not kicking you out of the house permanently.”

Harry reached for his trunk. 

“No. Leave the trunk.”

“I --”

“No need for you to have anything nice in there,” Uncle Vernon said. “Go.” He all but shoved Harry into the cupboard. Harry lay quietly, heart racing, in the semi-darkness, heart clenching when he heard the rasp of the outside lock closing.

* * *

 

_ Private Quarters of Severus Snape _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 28 July, 1992 _

 

Severus sipped his tea thoughtfully. It’d been a restful summer thus far. He’d made significant advancements on several of his personal projects, including the one that would qualify him for his Grand Sorcerer title.

A knock sounded on his door, and Severus sighed. It was time for the annual Potions department meeting, and while Severus found both of his colleagues to be competent individuals, he didn’t care to spend hours discussing the most minute of curriculum changes and gossiping about the students. 

He waved a hand at the door. “Come in.” 

The door swung open, and Ivy Selwyn and Guillaume du Feu walked in. 

“Ivy. Guillaume. Would you care for tea?”

“Certainly.”

“Of course.” 

Silence hung in the air while the kettle busied itself in pouring two more cups. Severus waited a moment for the other two professors to settle themselves on the couch before beginning. 

“The first thing I have on the agenda today is the change in the O.W.L curriculum,” Severus said. “Guillaume, I trust you’re familiar with it?” 

The Frenchman nodded. “Yes. The examiners, in all their wisdom, have added the Draught of Peace to the curriculum. I find it to be quite a fiddly potion, especially for O.W.L.”

“Indeed. Ivy, you’ll have to make sure the fourth years cover the Calming Draught. It has a similar base to the Draught of Peace, but is a far less complicated potion.” 

The blond witch sighed. “The fourth year curriculum is already so full of material…” 

“You will have to adapt. You can always assign more summer work to your students on theory, and start them brewing on the first day of class.” 

Ivy made a note on her parchment. “I’ll consider that. Now, in terms of the rising second years, is there anyone I should watch out for? I was thinking of switching the order of teaching for the Hair-Raising Solution and the Antidote for Common Poisons.” 

“Definitely teach the Hair-Raising Solution first,” Severus said. “The rising second years have some of the most promising Potions students I’ve seen in recent years, and also some of the most incompetent. Malfoy, Granger, and the Ravenclaw Patil are at the top of the class. You’ll need to keep an eye on Longbottom, Crabbe, and Goyle at all times, though. Crabbe and Goyle haven’t made anything explode yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Longbottom, on the other hand, is a disaster.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind when assigning lab partners.” 

“Any rising third years I need to keep an eye on, Ivy?” Guillaume asked. 

“Well,” Ivy began, “In comparison to the Weasley twins, there’s really no one that bad. But…”

Severus allowed his attention to wander. He had several cauldrons simmering in his lab, and one would reach maturation in several hours…

“Severus?” Ivy asked, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Were you expecting a letter?” 

“No. Why?”

“There’s an owl here…” 

Severus looked up. Sure enough, a large snowy owl was perched on the back of his spare armchair. “This is unexpected,” he commented, standing to take the letter. 

The owl extended its leg, and to Severus’ shock, it had a wadded ball of white something clutched in its foot. 

“Is that...a tissue?”  

Naturally, the owl did not respond. 

Severus carefully extracted the tissue from the owl’s claws and unfolded it. 

_ Help.  _

_ The Dursleys are mad at me and I’m scared.  _

_ Harry P _

Severus swallowed uncomfortably. All throughout the last year, he’d been expecting to hate Potter. The boy was the spitting image of his father, and Severus had expected him to have a personality to match. Severus had never been more happy to be wrong. While the boy might never achieve much more than mediocrity, he was significantly less stupid than his father had been, and much more interested in learning -- although, perhaps that was Granger’s influence. 

_ Dursley. _

The name seemed familiar, something to do with Lily’s family, perhaps. Severus thought for a moment, then frowned. Dursley was the name of Petunia’s husband -- a large, piggish man if Severus remembered correctly. And, he realized with a second jolt, Potter was living with them. The situation could be nothing, of course, but it was always best to be safe rather than sorry…

“Ivy, Guillaume. I’m afraid we will have to delay this meeting to a later date. I just recieved pressing information that I must resolve immediately.” 

“That’s alright, Severus. I hope it isn’t anything too serious…?”

“I can only hope not.” 

“Best of luck, then.” 

They left, and Severus quickly summoned his House records. He’d brought Potter his Hogwarts letter, of course, but hadn’t expected to need to retain where the boy lived. Severus quickly glanced over the records.  _ Harry James Potter: 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey _ .

“And now, a destination,” Severus murmured. “By Merlin, I hope this is nothing.”

* * *

 

_ Cupboard Under the Stairs _

_ 4 Privet Drive _

_ Little Whinging, Surrey, England _

_ 28 July, 1992 _

 

Harry’s stomach gurgled. The can of cold soup felt like it had been ages ago, and Harry could feel hunger gnawing at his insides. A week ago, Uncle Vernon had installed a cat flap to the cupboard door to further minimize the family’s interactions with Harry. 

**_Knock, knock._ **

“Dudley, get the door!” 

Thundering sounded on the stairs, then across the hall to the front door. The door clicked open. 

“Who are you?” Dudley asked stupidly.

“I could ask the same of you,” sneered a cold voice. “Are your parents home?”

Harry’s heart leapt. Professor Snape had received his letter! 

“My mum’s home,” said Dudley. 

“I would like to speak with her. Fetch her.”

Dudley waddled off, and Harry could practically sense Professor Snape’s disgust. Two sets of footsteps clomped back down the hallway, then one stopped.

“ _ You, _ ” Aunt Petunia said, shock and horror finding their way into her voice.

“Me,” Professor Snape said calmly. “Now, are you going to welcome me inside your house or should I stand on the front steps until I attract the attention of the neighbors?” 

“Come in. Quickly. Why are you here?”

“I’m here on behalf of your nephew, Petunia. I received a letter from him. He appeared to be in distress.” 

“Why do  _ you _ care about  _ him _ ?”

“I am his Head of House at Hogwarts.”

“Don’t say that name here!”

“What, Hogwarts? Oh, no, Petunia, you aren’t going to govern what I say here. You forget, I am no longer the boy from the wrong side of the play park. I am a wizard, and I will do as I please. Now, where is your nephew?”

“Dudley, go to your room!”

“But --”

“Go!”

“Petunia, where is your nephew?” Professor Snape asked, voice taking on a far more dangerous tone. 

“He - he’s out.”

“You lie. You know me, Petunia. You know who I grew up with. Do you really think I would think twice about using brute force to obtain the information I seek?”

“N-no.”

“Then  _ tell  _ me.” 

“He’s...in the cupboard.”

“He’s in the cupboard,” Professor Snape repeated blankly. “Why, Petunia, is your nephew in a cupboard.”

“He --”

“Nevermind, I don’t need to hear it now. Where is the cupboard?” 

Harry swallowed hard, then knocked on his cupboard door. “Professor Snape...I’m in here.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For all those eagle eyed readers who spotted the anachronism last chapter (yes, the London Eye wasn’t built until 1998), well done! That was my mistake, and I’ve since changed it.


	3. Gilderoy Lockhart, Writer Extraordinaire

_Diagon Alley_

_London, England_

_15 August 1992_

 

“Hurry up, now,” said Percy, trying desperately to chivy his siblings into line. “Mum’s at work, so you lot need to stick close together and pay attention to me. You all have your lists, right?”

“Yes, Mummy,” chorused Fred and George.

Ron looked at Ginny and smirked as Percy began to squawk in protest. Percy was well-meaning, albeit very bossy, and he’d only gotten worse after landing a prestigious internship at the Ministry of Magic over the summer. Said internship was the reason Ginny would have one set of new robes, but the rest would be second-hand.

“The book requirements for the lower year Defense Against the Dark Arts classes are truly absurd,” Percy said. “I mean, a complete boxed set of the Gilderoy Lockhart books? Those aren’t even textbooks, and they don’t come cheaply!”

“I bet you’ll have some sort of Lockhart-fanatic this year,” said George.

“Yeah, it’ll probably some witch who is _obsessed_ ,” Fred chimed in.

“She’ll go on --”

“-- and on --”

“-- about how he won --”

“Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award seven times in a row!” they all but

shouted in unison.  

Percy groaned. “You two are such an embarrassment.”

Ron stared pointedly in a different direction. “Hey, look, it’s Harry! And he’s with Professor Snape!”

“Duck for cover, duck for cover!” shouted Fred and George, running to crouch behind Ginny.

“Don’t hide behind me!” Ginny protested. “I don’t want to be the human sacrifice!”

“Harry!” Ron called, waving his arm enthusiastically. “Harry!”

The other boy broke into a grin. “Ron!”  

Ron all but ran over. “How’ve you been? How was your summer?”

“Er, it was alright.”

The rest of the Weasleys caught up, Ginny staring pointedly at anywhere that wasn’t Harry’s scar.  

“Ron, you really ought not run in public,” Percy began, “it’s undignified…”

“Aw, stuff it, Percy,” Ron protested. “Harry, meet Ginny, my sister, and the only other sane person here…”

“Hi Ginny.”

“Hi,” said Ginny, sounding slightly flustered. “I’m Ginny...which Ron just said. Uh, that’s awkward. Do you like Quidditch?”

“Love it!” Harry replied enthusiastically. “Who's your team?”

They quickly delved into a Quidditch debate over the merits of the Falmouth Falcons over Puddlemere United.

“Percival,” Professor Snape began, “I see you have been tasked with taking your siblings shopping for school supplies.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would it trouble you to take Mr. Potter as well? I have some of my own shopping to do.”

“Not at all, sir.”

Snape nodded his approval. “I saw your Potions O.W.L. results -- they were quite satisfactory. Do you plan to take the Advanced class?”

“Thank you, sir. And yes, I will be enrolling in Potions for this upcoming academic year,” Percy said pompously.

“A wise choice -- and one your siblings would benefit from emulating,” Professor Snape sneered, casting a glare at Fred and George, who once again ducked to hide behind Ginny. “Which other classes will you be taking?”

“Arithmancy, Politics and Economics, Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Magical Theory, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I’m also doing an independent study with Professor Petrov focusing on international relations.”

“How stimulating. You ought to take Dueling as well.”

Percy raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Dueling, sir? Is that truly something the average

wizard needs to know?”

“It is never a bad idea to know how to defend yourself, if necessary -- especially if one is

going into the political world.”

Percy drew himself up slightly. “I most certainly plan in being a part of the political world. I turn seventeen in several days, so I will be juggling both classes and Wizengamot sessions this year.”

“This is an ambitious undertaking. You are the heir to the Prewett seat, correct?”

Percy nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I wish you the best of luck then, Mr. Weasley.”

“Thank you, sir.”

With that, Professor Snape walked off, leaving Harry with the Weasleys.

“We have only books left to get,” Ron said. “How about you?”

“Just books… oh Merlin.”

“What?”

“Do you see the size of that line?” Harry asked, pointing towards Flourish and Blotts.

Ron groaned. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“It’s a Gilderoy Lockhart book signing!” Ginny piped up.

“Ooh, goody!”

“We’ve got to go --”

“-- and get a _signed copy_ \--”

“Shut up, Fred and George,” Percy snapped. “Come along now, everyone.”

They got into line behind a pair of gossiping witches. Ginny was a bit awkward around Harry at first, but calmed down once they started playing ‘spot the ugliest robes’ while they waited. Ginny won after finding a particularly disgusting pair with mauve and orange stripes.

After what seemed like ages, they finally made it into the bookshop. Harry craned his neck, and, sure enough, in the front of the bookshop stood an individual who could only be Gilderoy Lockhart. The wizard, who was sporting peacock-blue robes and long blonde hair, was enthusiastically signing off on a number of books.

“‘Scuse me,” said a gruff voice with sharp elbows. “Coming through.”

Harry started, and nearly tripped over Ron.

“Oi, watch it!”

“This is for the Prophet!” the photographer shouted. “Move out of the way!”

“Don’t shove me!”

The commotion caught the attention of Gilderoy Lockhart. “What’s going. . . my gods, it

can’t be!” he exclaimed, staring at Harry. “Harry Potter!”

The photographer grabbed a fistful of Harry’s robes and dragged him toward the front of

the room. Harry groaned. The _last_ thing he wanted was attention.

“Come here, Harry,” Lockhart said, beaming. “Stand right here, next to me. Nice big smile, now. Together we should make the front page…”

The camera flashed, and Harry was momentarily blinded. Blinking rapidly, he regained his bearings.

“This,” Lockhart began, “is an extraordinary moment. When young Harry walked into Flourish and Blotts today, he was merely hoping to purchase his textbooks for the upcoming school year. What he didn’t know --” Lockhart paused to beam at Harry once again “-- was that he would be getting my complete set of books, including my latest, _A Year with a Yeti_ , as well as a copy of my biography, _Magical Me_ , autographed, free of charge.”

The crowd oohed, and Harry winced slightly as the camera flashed again.

“Now, this isn’t the only great piece of news, you see,” continued Lockhart. “I am excited to announce that this year, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, will be teaching first and second year Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

The crowd went berserk, and Harry managed to slip free of Lockhart’s grasp.

“Here,” he said, shoving the books towards Ron. “Take them. I can buy my own.”

Ron made a face. “I don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not charity if it’s a gift. I didn’t get you anything for your birthday last year.”

“But --”

“Take them. I’ll be expecting some really good insults against Malfoy later, though.”

Ron chuckled as they moved away from the signing section and towards the rest of the bookstore. “Fair,” he said. Suddenly, his grin faded. “Speaking of the devil…”

It was Malfoy. “Potter. Weasley. Other Weasleys. Pity you can’t even walk into a bookstore without causing a commotion. It’s unfortunate some people aren’t raised with class.”

The Weasleys looked uncomfortable, but Ron merely raised an eyebrow. “I agree. What is more unfortunate, however, is that we are looking at one of those individuals right now.”

Malfoy turned pink. “How dare you…”

“Draco! There you are.”

Harry looked for the source of the voice. A tall man with immaculate black robes and long silver hair tied back by a black ribbon stood behind Draco.

“Who do we have here?” the man mused. “The famous Harry Potter, of course, the soon-to-be Lord Prewett, and the rest of the Weasley family.”

Fred and George gaped, and Harry desperately wished they would close their mouths.

“How rude of me not to introduce myself,” the man said, extending a hand towards Harry. “I am Lord Lucius Malfoy.”

Harry reached his hand out to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, sir,” he managed. “I’m Harry Potter.”

“Of course. My son has spoken much about you.”

“All good things, I hope?”

Lord Malfoy chuckled darkly. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Have a pleasant beginning to your school year, Mr. Potter, Percival Weasley.”

With that, Lord Malfoy steered his son out of the bookshop. Harry cast a curious look at Percy. “That was odd.”

Percy nodded thoughtfully. “The House of Malfoy is very traditional. Lord Malfoy is trying to instill those values in his son, but I personally believe he is failing in the area of tact.”

Harry laughed. “You’ve got that right, for sure.”

“Indeed,” Percy said seriously. “I truly am appalled by how outspoken the younger Malfoy is. I would think he would have learned better by now.”

“Some people never learn.”

Ron coughed something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Fred’ and ‘George’.

“Oh, come along now. We still have books to purchase.”

Harry looked at Ron and smirked. “Your brother is surprising good at dissing people, you know.”

Ron snickered. “Percy can get pretty snippy when someone’s got him in a twist. Anyway, come on. There’s a new _Auror Bartleby_ book I want to buy.”

* * *

 

_Hogwarts Express_

_Enroute to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_30 August 1992_

 

“But Harry,” Hermione whined, “why won’t you tell us what _really_ happened over the summer?”

Harry cast a furtive look around the compartment. Millicent and Lily were busy discussing the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_ while Theo and Ron were arguing chess strategy. “Look, Hermione, I’ll tell you later, okay?”

Hermione huffed. “Fine.”

“So how was your summer?”

“Alright. My parents took me to Paris, which was very fun. There’s all sorts of cute little Wizarding shopping centers if you know where to look…”

Harry half-paid attention while Hermione waxed eloquent about the wonders of Parisian Wizarding architecture. After about twenty minutes, she paused long enough that Harry was able to suggest playing a game of Exploding Snap. Once the game became serious, the hours seemed to slip away. It turned out that Millicent and Lily weren’t too bad for girls, although Lily kept screaming every time her cards exploded. Soon enough, it was time for them to pull their robes on and disembark the Hogwarts Express at Hogsmeade Station.

“So,” Hermione asked, shivering slightly in the wind. “Where do we go this year, now that we aren’t taking the boats over?”

“There are carriages that way,” Ron said, pointing to the stream of students heading off the platform.

They made their way over to the carriages, which turned out to be pulled by magic and smelled faintly of cabbages.

“Well,” said Lily, “Here we go! Off to another wonderful year of school!”

“Another wonderful year of rooming with Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey,” Millicent grumbled.

“At least you don’t have to room with Draco,” Harry said.

“Pansy is like the she-Draco,” Millicent said. “She thinks she’s so pretty and so great. I’m just waiting for someone to point out to her that she has a nose like a crup!”

Everyone chuckled.

“You know, I never thought about it like that before,” Theo said, “but the more I think about it, the more I think you’re right.”

Everyone burst into full-on laughter.

Harry wiped the tears out of his eyes as the carriage came to a bumpy halt. “I’m never going to look at Pansy the same way again…”

They made their way out of the carriage and into the Great Hall. Harry caught a glimpse of Pansy and her crup-like nose and had to smother his laughter. A quick look at Ron suggested that he was thinking the same thing.

“The Sorting should begin soon, shouldn’t it?” Hermione asked.

“I think so -- oh, look, there they are!”

Apparently the wind had picked up since they’d left the train, as the first years looked like they’d walked through a storm.

Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on a stool, and the entire Hall held its breath in anticipation. The Sorting Hat’s brim opened, and it began to sing:

_It was many thousand years ago_

_That I was brand and new_

_Beginning to sort students_

_Some brave through and through_

_Those belonged in Gryffindor,_

_Home of Godric the Great_

_While others belonged in Slytherin,_

_The House of Cunning Salazar_

_The ambition of the Slytherins_

_Will certainly take them far._

_Then there were those of Ravenclaw,_

_Fair Rowena’s home_

_For those prizing intelligence_

_And holding brilliance within their dome_

_Lastly there was Hufflepuff_

_Not lacking in the mind,_

_Helga knew the value of toil_

_And those not lacking in the spine._

_Let me in! I will take a peek!_

_And you will find_

_Which House you seek!_

They applauded, and Professor McGonagall stepped forward. “When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Bagnold, Parker!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Bell, Gregory!”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry sighed. The Sorting was going to take _forever_.

“Brocklehurst, Andrew!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Brown, Creston!”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“Carrow, Atlas!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

Harry applauded along with the rest of the table as Atlas took his place at the first year end.

“Crabbe, Louise!”

Harry craned his neck. Crabbe’s little sister was surprisingly petite, and looked almost nothing like him except for the coloring.

“SLYTHERIN!”

The Sortings started to blend together.

“Marchbanks, Marcela!”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“Midgen, Eloise!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Mulciber, Mordred!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Nott, Diana!”

“That’s my sister!” Theo whispered excitedly. “I hope she’s in --”

“SLYTHERIN!” shouted the Hat.

Theo grinned. “I knew she’d get in!”

The first years had dwindled now. ‘Runcorn, Anna’ was also sorted into Slytherin, and ‘Spinnet, Alexa’ was sorted into Gryffindor.

Only five students remained.

“Umbridge, Cecily!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Vance, Katelyn!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Viridian, Violet!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

Only two students remained.

“Warrington, Leila!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Weasley, Ginevra!”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“Aww,” said Ron. “I was kind of hoping she’d be in Slytherin. I mean, she’ll be happy in Gryffindor, but it would have been fun to have someone else from my family here.”

Harry shrugged. He wouldn’t know what that was like.

Professor Dumbledore stood. “Before you dig into our lovely feast, I’d like to offer a few words: chiliad, gnathic, mimsy, tiffin. Enjoy.” He sat back down, and a heartbeat later, the gold plates in front of them filled with food.

All too soon, the feast was over and Professor Dumbledore was standing once more. “I have a few start-of-term announcements,” he began. “First of all, I would like to welcome Gilderoy Lockhart to our teaching staff. He will instruct first and second year Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

There was an enthusiastic round of applause.

“Secondly, I would like to remind all students that the Forbidden Forest is, exactly as it sounds, forbidden. At the request of Mr. Filch, I would like to also remind students that the complete list of banned items can be found on the door to his office. Any student caught with these items will have them confiscated immediately and may face detention. Lastly, I have a bit of exciting news.”

Harry sat up straighter on the bench.

“This year, Hogwarts will be participating in the International Scholastic Quidditch Tournament! Including Hogwarts, sixteen schools are competing: Alexandria School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, Bombay Institute of Magical Learning, Castelobruxo, Choqueauirao, Durmstrang Institute, Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,  Karakoram School of Magic, Koldovstoretz, Loihi, Mahoutokoro School of Magic, Mongolian Academy of Magic, Tang Taizong School, Uagadou School of Magic, and Uluru Academy of Magical Arts. Tryouts for the school team will be held by Madam Hooch during the second week of classes. Further information on the tournament can be found on the noticeboards in your common rooms.”

The entire hall burst into conversation.

“Do you think I have a chance of making the school team?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. “Dunno. You’re definitely better than that idiot McLaggen who was on the Gryffindor team last year. Not sure if you’re better than the Hufflepuff seeker though.”

Harry frowned. Diggory was rather good, and he had several years of practice over Harry. “Will you help me train?”

“Of course!”

Harry grinned, mind full of Quidditch dreams. “This school year is going to be awesome!”


	4. A Meeting with the Minister

 

_ Office of the Minister of Magic _

_ London, England _

_ 31 August, 1992 _

 

Cornelius Fudge was a man who prided himself on many things: crisp pinstripe trousers, lime green bowler hats, and his ability to surround himself with powerful wizards. Today was no different than others. In precisely two and a half minutes, he was scheduled to meet with Lord Malfoy, Lord Gaunt, and his Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge. 

Cornelius relaxed into his leather desk chair and glanced once more at his pocket watch. There was now only one minute to go…

**_Knock._ **

“Come in, come in,” Cornelius called genially, an eager smile popping onto his face. He’d been working to arrange a meeting with Lord Gaunt for ages, and it just so happened that Lord Malfoy was available at the same time. It truly felt like the universe was finally tilting in his favor. The door swung open, and the two lords entered, Umbridge trailing in their wake. Cornelius swallowed. He couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated by Lord Malfoy, and this was the first time he’d met Lord Gaunt up close. He was the picture of Wizarding nobility -- his dark, almost black hair was tied back with a burgundy ribbon that matched the piping on his robes, and his sapphire eyes narrowed in focus. 

Cornelius belatedly realized he’d been staring. “Sit down, sit down,” he said quickly. 

They sat, and Cornelius shuffled his papers. “I believe congratulations are in order for you, Lord Gaunt, on the passing of the Religion and Cultural Affirmation Act.”

The man inclined his head. “Thank you, Minister.” 

“I understand there has been some difficulty in implementing it,” Cornelius offered. 

Lord Gaunt shrugged elegantly. “There have been some minor obstacles, but nothing I did not anticipate after reading Hogwarts’ charter. I am certain we will be able to implement our plan to the fullest. Lucius has a seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors, you see, and he has been most helpful.”

Cornelius swallowed hard at the casual first name usage. He’d been hoping to offer his help as Minister of Magic to help Lord Gaunt put his plan into action, but it appeared his aid wasn’t even needed. “Ah, yes, the Hogwarts charter,” Cornelius began, playing for time while he attempted to marshal his thoughts. “It’s quite troublesome, isn’t it?”

Lord Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Indeed.” 

“It makes it quite difficult to plan things, doesn’t it?”

“I would imagine so,” Lord Gaunt said smoothly. “How goes the planning of the International Scholastic Quidditch Tournament?”

Cornelius groaned. “Painstakingly. If Magical Games and Sports would actually do their job, there wouldn’t be a problem, but Bagman can’t find his way out of a paper bag let alone organize something of this scale.”

“ _ Hem, hem. _ ” 

Cornelius looked up in surprise. “Yes, Dolores?”

“Why don’t you just fire Bagman?’

He blinked in surprise. “I can’t just fire Bagman. It would be bad politics!”

Lord Malfoy cleared his throat. “If I may be so forward as to ask, what or who in particular is giving you a difficult time?” 

“The French and the Russians.” 

“Not the Chinese?”

“No, surprisingly not. Karkaroff, the Durmstrang Headmaster, was giving me a bit of a difficult time until I mentioned House Gaunt and House Malfoy were sponsoring the event.”

“Odd,” Lord Malfoy commented, “I have some connections in France. My cousin, Duke Dorian Malfoy, has excellent connections in the French government. I can send him an owl and see if he can help ease your difficulties on that front.”

Cornelius sighed in relief. “That would be great, thank you so much.”

“Not a problem.”

“I don’t suppose you have any connections with the Russians as well?”

“No.”   

“That’s a shame. Well, it’s been great speaking with you, gentlemen. I have a Floo

meeting with the Russian Minister in several minutes, so I must bring our meeting to a close.” 

Lords Gaunt and Malfoy stood. 

“We will speak with you again, I presume?” Lord Gaunt asked.

“Yes, yes,” Cornelius replied. “You’ve been very helpful.” 

“Good day, Minister.”

“Good day.” 

The door closed behind the duo and Cornelius allowed himself to relax. Meeting with two of the most intimidating and powerful wizards in Britain? Accomplished.

* * *

 

_ L’Esprit de Coriandre _

_ Sydewaize Alley, London, England _

_ 31 August, 1992 _

 

Lucius inhaled deeply. “I cannot believe that you have never dined here, Thomas. This is exactly the sort of establishment that caters to our sort -- in fact, the Malfoys have a room on reserve…ah, Antoinette!” 

“ _ Bonjour _ , Lord Malfoy. ‘Ow are you today?”

“Excellent, thank you. If you could show Lord Gaunt and myself to the Malfoy reservation…”

If Antoinette was surprised to see two of the most influential British politicians, she didn’t show it. That’s what Lucius loved about L’Esprit de Coriandre -- it was such an upscale restaurant that high class individuals were commonplace and the waitstaff didn’t blink an eye.

“If you gentlemen could follow me…” Antoinette turned on the spot, robes swirling elegantly around her ankles as she lead them deeper into the restaurant. 

“This is rather nice,” Thomas allowed once they were left alone. 

Lucius grinned. “I know. My father had a tradition of keeping a reserved room here before his passing, and I saw it fit to continue the tradition.” 

“I am glad you did. Now, on the matter of our  _ dear _ Minister of Magic...”

Lucius chuckled. “Where to start? With him, or his delusional secretary?”

“The secretary. By Merlin, I’m shocked any wizard would want to marry, let alone reproduce with her!” 

“And three times, at that.”

“Please don’t remind me.”

“Apparently Sisyphus Umbridge has gotten it into his head that his family should have a seat on the Wizengamot. I think dear Dolores put that particular thought in his head -- I don’t think Sisyphus could find his way out a paper bag without aide, let alone have an independent thought.” 

“That makes them, what, one of eight houses petitioning?”

“One of nine. Amos Diggory renewed his claim.” 

“What a complete and utter fool. The Diggorys do not have the…  _ prestige _ .” 

“No. The only Houses with a decent claim in my eyes are Marchbanks, Runcorn, and Rookwood. And we know the latter two would be supportive to our cause.” 

“Indeed. Crabbe, Goyle, and Umbridge would also be helpful, on the voting side of matters, but I find all of them to be unpalatably dim.”

“What do you think of Ogden and Patil?” 

“The Ogdens are wealthy enough, for sure, but I believe they lack the class to convince the Wizengamot to allow them to ascend to Upper House status. The Patils are fabulously wealthy, but too nouveau-riche in my eyes. Their Head of House, Rajan Patil, has his foot in the door as the Senior Undersecretary for the Under Minister, but I doubt he will advance much further. His son, on the other hand, is quite bright, and stands to benefit greatly if he plays his cards correctly.”

“You believe so?”

“Severus tells me Palin Patil is an excellent Slytherin, and would have made Prefect if not

for the unexpected brilliance of Barclay Urquhart.” 

“Interesting.” 

Conversation paused briefly as the salad course appeared. Lucius took a bite and allowed

himself to savour the delicious lemony tang of the dressing for a moment.

“Now, on the subject of our Minister,” Thomas began, “the man is a fool.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” 

“I knew his wife, Calpurnia -- née Montague -- when I was in school. She’s an intelligent, ruthless woman.” 

“So she’s the one pulling the strings. Interesting.”

“The eldest daughter, Georgina, takes after the father. She’s a Hufflepuff, set to graduate this year with only a handful of N.E.W.Ts. The twins, however, are every inch their mother.”

“What are their names?”

“Julius and Margaretha. Both in Slytherin, and rising sixth year students.” 

Thomas tapped his chin thoughtfully. “That bears watching.” 

“I agree.”

“What is the progress on implementing our new curriculum?”

Lucius sighed. “The progress goes slowly. Dumbledore, of course, is dragging his feet. He’s desperate to keep up the whole ‘champion of muggleborns’ charade -- not that I believe him for a moment in that regard -- and will fight us every step of the way. The unfortunate part is that he can continue to delay the policy for a year and a day due to subclause 23d. That being said, we should be able to implement the policy for the 1993/1994 academic year.” 

“I suppose that is good news,” Thomas allowed.

“Would you like to know what’s slightly better?” Lucius asked, lips turning upwards, “The Wizarding Studies class will require at least one new instructor, possibly more if we can implement an entire curriculum with electives. We can get more of our people on the inside.” 

Thomas smiled dangerously. “That, my friend, is a beautiful thing.” 

“It is, is it not? I wonder _ …  _ how far can we push the Minister?”

Thomas chuckled lightly. “I would say fairly far. The man is nearly imbecilic, and also intimidated by us. His wife is sympathetic to our cause, and cunning enough to understand the game we play.” 

“I can not agree more.”

The main course arrived, and they tucked into boeuf bourguignon and cassoulet respectively.

“So I’ve heard Lord Moon and Lord Selwyn have been pushing for the Primary Education Reform Act,” Thomas began.  “Most interesting, that.”

Lucius nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve been meaning to talk to the resolution’s sponsors -- I will gladly support the bill if I can be on the curriculum board, but I do not think Lady Regent Bones will allow that. Lord Moon and Lord Selwyn, however, are a different story. The question will be if they will suffer the loss of Bones’ Moderates for my Blood Purists.”

“I was having similar thoughts,” Thomas said, slicing into his boeuf bourguignon. “We truly need to strategize here. Both of us cannot be on the board, and I believe you will be the more palatable choice, especially where Lady Regent Bones is concerned.” 

“I will owl Lord Moon, then. If I can manage to get a spot as a sponsor, that would be ideal, but if not, I will still vote for the resolution.”

“Naturally.” 

They ate in silence for several moments.

“Your son is going into his second year at Hogwarts, isn’t he, Lucius?”

Lucius swallowed. “Yes. Draco is rather excited, especially with the promise of extra Quidditch in the air.”

“Doesn’t it worry you, only having one heir?”

Lucius froze. “Whatever do you mean?” he drawled, feigning nonchalance. 

“Nothing,” Thomas said, tones placating. “I was merely curious.”

Lucius sighed. “If you really must know, I am concerned. Draco made it into Slytherin, but I am worried Narcissa holds undue influence over him. Severus says Draco lacks the cunning of some of the others in his year and says that Ronald Weasley, of all wizards, is more intelligent than my son! The problem is,” he continued, voice softer, “is that Draco’s birth was incredibly difficult on Narcissa, and if she were to conceive again, it could be a great risk for both her and the child.”  

“I see.”

“And you, Thomas, when are you going to be married? You most certainly require an heir.” 

The wizard shifted uncomfortably. “Lucius, I --”

“Thomas, the bastards from the Order put my sister beyond the Veil over a decade ago. Callia is  _ gone _ .”

“Lucius -- ”

“You must move on.”

Thomas looked away. “I can only have the best, Lucius, and --”

“It’s no problem. We will  _ find _ the best. The question will not be the pedigree of the witch, but where she should come from, and what power she can lend you. All the Dolohovs of this generation are married off, but perhaps a young wife may suit you. The Delacours in France have a daughter who is almost of age, as do the du Feus. I can send inquiries, if you wish.” 

“What about the Irish?”

“The Irish?” 

“Yes, the Irish, who have not been a part of Wizarding Britain since the Great Feud of 1922. If we can once again unite Northern Ireland and Ireland, and bring them under British rule, we will find ourselves solidly in power in the Wizengamot. You cannot forget that the reason Ireland originally split was because the northern covens leaned more moderate while the southern covens were more neutral and traditional. The northern covens wanted to join Britain, where moderate and moderate/neutral Houses held the majority in the Wizengamot. Unfortunately for the northern covens, they were only granted one seat, which the Moran Coven currently holds. If we can harness the power of Ireland, that means more students for Hogwarts, more students to fuel our preservation acts, and a greater Traditionalist and Blood Purist bloc.” 

Lucius all but gaped. “Merlin, that is  _ brilliant _ .”

“Thank you.” 

“We will have our work cut out of us, that is for certain, but if we can mastermind this, He will be most delighted upon His return.”

Thomas flashed a predatory grin. “Of that, I am most certain.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Politics, and more politics…
> 
> On an unrelated note, fantasy quidditch league predictions, anyone?


	5. The Problem with Pixies

# 

_ Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 1 September, 1992 _

 

Hermione stared at Professor Lockhart in disgust. She’d been hopeful when she first met him -- the wizard was  _ handsome _ \-- but every sentence he uttered only lowered her opinion of him. 

He was positively  _ insipid _ . Hermione had read through all seven of his books over the summer break, and had been ready to prove her knowledge of Dark Creatures on the quiz. Only, the quiz didn’t cover anything about Dark Creatures. It had instead been filled with inane questions ranging from the stupid (‘what is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?’) to the strangely specific (‘which product does Gilderoy Lockhart use to clean his teeth with to achieve his world-famous dazzling smile?’). Hermione had gotten all the questions correct, of course, earning ten points for Slytherin and scowls from her roommates. 

Grimacing slightly, Hermione returned her attention back to Professor Lockhart as he pranced across the front of the room, gesticulating wildly and waving around one of his books like he’d won the lottery. Lockhart hopped onto his chair, planting one foot dramatically on his desk next to a large covered cage.

“Now – be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.”

Hermione glanced around the classroom. Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey were riveted while Zabini had schooled his features into a look of polite interest. 

“I must ask you not to scream,” Lockhart said in a low voice. “You might provoke them.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. She had the feeling she was going to be enormously underwhelmed. 

“Behold --” Lockhart whipped off the cage’s cover “-- freshly caught Cornish Pixies!” 

Malfoy looked about as appalled as Hermione felt. “Pixies, Professor?” he asked, tone condescending. 

“Of course! Now, on the count of three, I’m going to release the pixies, and we’ll see what you make of them.”

Hermione drew her wand. 

“One. Two. Three!”

The cage door sprung open, and the pixies spilled out. For a moment, it was pure pandemonium. The electric blue pixies flew everywhere, and Daphne screamed as one tried to bite her hair clip. Pansy and Tracey had taken refuge under their desks after a cluster of pixies broke the back window, and Millie had grabbed one of Lockhart’s books in each hand and was swinging at the pixies like they were Bludgers.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione aimed her wand at a nearby cluster. “ _ Immobulus! _ ”  The pixies froze, and hung in the air. 

“Hermione, is the wand motion counterclockwise or clockwise for the Freezing Charm?” Ron shouted over the clamour. 

“Counterclockwise half circle, then a jab towards your target!”

“ _ Immobulus! _ ”

Another cluster of pixies froze midair. Several other students had caught on, and soon almost half of the pixie cloud had been frozen. 

“I’ll give you all a hand now,” Lockhart yelled. “ _ Peskipiksi Pesternomi!” _

Nothing happened.

“I’m not sure that’s a real spell,” Ron commented as he took aim at another group of pixies. “ _ Immobulus! _ ” 

“I’ve certainly never heard of it,” Hermione said. “Have you, Harry?”

“ _ Immobulus! _ No, I haven’t either, but I’m not exactly a walking lexicon of spells. Oh, duck, Hermione!” 

Hermione ducked, just missing the piece of masonry that soared over her head. “I can’t believe this!  _ Immobulus! Immobulus! _ ” 

“There’s another --  _ Immobulus! _ ” 

Finally, at long last, all the pixies were frozen.

Lockhart clapped. “Excellent work, all of you! Very good job -- class is over now -- thirty points to Slytherin! I will see you all on Thursday.” He bustled off to his office while the class packed up their bags. 

“Do either of you get the feeling Lockhart doesn’t know what he’s doing?” Hermione asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Ron replied. “I mean, he’s  _ allegedly _ done all these great things, but that pixie spell? Was he just trying to be funny?” 

“I don’t even care about that,” Harry said. “Lockhart kept staring at me weirdly. I’m definitely sitting in the back row next class, it was  _ really _ odd.” 

“I didn’t notice that. Too busy dodging pixies, I guess. If it keeps happening, you should tell Professor Snape, though. Boy would I love to see him yell at Lockhart!”

“Wouldn’t we all?” 

They trudged out of the Defense classroom and towards History of Magic. 

“Do either of you know what we’re learning in History of Magic this year?” Harry asked. “I swear, if I have to hear one more word on goblin wars and their feuds with old wizarding kingdoms, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“I think we’re starting with the foundation of the first British wizarding government,” said Ron. “Percy loved it, but Fred and George said it was awful.” 

“Great,” Harry groaned. 

“Did any of your brothers say anything about Professor Vance?” Hermione asked. “We have him for Charms this afternoon.”

“Uh, don’t think they said anything bad about him. I can ask them at lunch, though, if you want more information.” 

“No, it’s fine. I was just trying to figure out if I needed to mentally prepare myself for another Lockhart.”

Ron laughed. “No. We should be fine.”

“Thank Merlin.”

* * *

 

_ Slytherin Common Room _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 4 September 1992 _

 

“So,” Hermione started, sliding in next to Lily on the couch, “do you know why Professor Snape is meeting with all the first and second years?”

“Not a clue. I was hoping you’d know.” 

“Millie?”

“Don’t look at me. I don’t have the foggiest idea.” 

Professor Snape strode into the common room. “Quiet now, while I take attendance. Please raise your hand when I call your name. Second years. Bulstrode. Crabbe. Davis. Goyle. Greengrass. Malfoy. Moon. Nott. Parkinson. Potter. Weasley. Zabini. First years. Borgin. Carrow. Crabbe. Davis. MacNair. Mulciber. Nott. Runcorn. Stark. Selwyn. Umbridge. Warrington. 

“All of you are present. Good. It has been brought to my attention by several students that the instruction in Defense Against the Dark Arts for the first and second year students is abnormally sub-par.” 

Hermione couldn’t agree more. Lockhart’s second class had somehow been worse than his first one -- they hadn’t learned  _ anything _ , and all they’d done was act out various scenes from Lockhart’s books.

“After weighing several options, and hearing the insufferable whining of certain students, I have devised a solution to ameliorate the situation.” 

Some of the first years cheered, but quieted quickly after a pointed stare from Professor Snape.

“Against what may have been my wiser instincts, I have decided to offer tutoring sessions. The sessions will be held twice a week, once on Tuesday during last period in dungeon three with your prefects, Mr. Urquhart and Miss Carrow. On Saturday I will lead a tutoring session immediately following lunch in dungeon three. I expect prompt attendance and the highest level of effort for each and every one of you. Is that clear?”

Everyone nodded. 

“Very well.” He swept off, and conversation started back up. 

Hermione smiled. Outside of Slytherin, Professor Snape had a harsh reputation, and one he definitely deserved. Inside the House, however, everyone down to the dimmest and the dumbest of the first years, knew that Professor Snape really did care for them and were eternally grateful to have him as Head of House.

* * *

 

_ Slytherin Common Room _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 5 September 1992 _

 

“Psst! Hermione!” 

“What?”

“Come over here!” 

Sighing, Hermione walked over to where Harry and Ron had pushed a group of armchairs together. “What?”

“I was thinking we could go explore the room again,” Harry whispered. 

“Now?”

“Yeah.” 

“I’ve just finished my Herbology homework, so I suppose that’ll be acceptable.” 

Harry grinned. “Awesome, let’s go!” 

They snuck out of the common room and down the now familiar flights of stairs and corridors. After checking to make sure no one was following them, they crept across the rocky beach, through the Slytherin seal, and down the twisting staircase to the door. 

Harry hissed, and Hermione couldn’t help but shudder slightly. 

“It’s creepy when you do that, mate,” Ron said. 

Harry shrugged. “Sorry. It’s the only way to get in.”

“What are you even saying?”

“Open.”

“The password seriously is ‘open’?” 

“Maybe Salazar Slytherin had a sense of humor?” Harry guessed. 

“Someone could have changed it later on,” Ron said. “Some enchantments work like that. We won’t be able to do that for a while though,” he added hastily upon seeing Harry’s hopeful expression. 

“Darn.”

“What?”

“I was going to make the password ‘Harry is awesome.’”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re such a child. Come on, are we exploring or not?” She pushed passed Harry and Ron, pausing only momentarily to cast the Bluebell Flame Charm on the stone brackets. There were so many lovely things to explore in the library. The tapestries alone were beautiful, and the sheer number of books was more than Hermione could possibly read in all her years at Hogwarts. 

“Guys, I think I found something!” Ron yelled excitedly. 

“What is it?” 

“A door!”

Hermione hurried over as quick as possible. “How did we miss this earlier?”

“I dunno. It blends in pretty well with the rest of the woodwork, so that’s probably why.”

“That’s fair,” Hermione allowed. “Get your wands ready, just in case there’s something nasty on the other side. Ron, open the door on three. Everyone ready?” Harry and Ron nodded. “One, two, three!” 

Ron pulled on the serpentine mahogany handle. Hermione held her breath, but nothing emerged other than a faint smell of dust. 

“ _ Lumos. _ ” Ron held his wand high, and they stepped through the doorway. The room beyond was fairly small, only about six meters in either direction. It was dominated by a great oaken table with five chairs on either side and one at the far end that almost resemble a throne, if Hermione were to be fantastical about it. 

“ _ Lumos _ ,” she murmured, raising her wand. The pointed tips of the chair backs casted strange shadows across the stone floor. Hermione scanned the walls, looking for one of the stone sconces. There were several tapestries, most depicting the Slytherin crest in some form or another. Stone snakes sprung out of the walls at regular intervals. “ _ Hyacinth flamma! _ ” 

A gout of flame leapt from the tip of her wand and into the jaws of the snake. Within the space of a heartbeat, the rest of the snakes flared to life. 

“Bloody hell! Give us some warning next time you do that!”

“Sorry, Ron,” Hermione said, not feeling very sorry at all. She could see the room properly now, and it was absolutely amazing. There was something about the simple, elegant furnishings that radiated power and importance and drew Hermione in like a moth to light. The very essence of her craved it…

“Hermione! Ron!” Harry shouted, breaking through Hermione’s thoughts. “I found  _ another  _ door!” 

Hermione looked up. Harry was standing next to a section of dark wood paneling which had swung open to reveal a spiral staircase going upwards. 

“How’d you know that was there?” Ron wanted to know.

“In muggle spy books, there’s  _ always _ a secret door behind the wooden paneling,” Harry said.

Hermione groaned. “I thought you were over those spy books!”

“Never!”

“Well, obviously.” Hermione stalked over in order to get a closer look. “How did it open?”

“I just pushed on the panel. I’d been knocking on all of them and listening for one that sounded hollow.” 

“Huh.” 

“There’s a handle on this side,” Ron called from inside the stairwell. “Looks like it’s supposed to be opened from in here.” 

Hermione poked her head through the opening before relighting her wand. The stairs were carved into the very stone of the shaft and blocked the view of the top. “What do you reckon is up there?” 

“Dunno. More Slytherin stuff, probably, given that this looks to be like a meeting room, and the first thing we found is a library.” 

“But what else did Slytherin need? Personal chambers?” 

Ron scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I haven’t got the slightest clue.” 

“You guys want to explore up here today?” Harry asked hopefully. 

Hermione shone her wand light around some more. “Uh, I don’t think so, Harry. I want to

research this first. There’s something about these stairs that gives me the creeps.” 

Ron nodded vigorously. “Me too. I’m usually the last one to say we should hit up the library, but in this case, I think it’s a good idea. Just in case something lives up there, you know.” 

Harry frowned. “You think something lives up there?”

“I dunno. It’s better to be safe than sorry, you know? My family has a ghoul living in our attic, and while he isn’t dangerous, you could get a nasty shock if you weren’t expecting to see him.” 

“Oh. Okay. So library then?”

Hermione grinned. “Library.” 


	6. Team Hogwarts

# 

_ Great Hall _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 12 September 1992 _

 

“Nervous, Harry?” 

Harry shook his head and tried to focus on eating his eggs. The normally tasty breakfast food felt rubbery, and the toast was dry in his mouth. 

“I really hope I do well today,” Ron continued. “I don’t have a chance at making the school team, but I’m hoping to get Flint’s attention. If I can make second string Keeper now, I’ll have a solid chance of becoming the starting Keeper once Flint graduates. That’s pretty exciting, right?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said vaguely, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach. He hadn’t exactly tried out for the Slytherin House Team last year, and wasn’t seriously planning on trying out for the school team until Malfoy started running his mouth in the common room. To hear him tell it, Harry was a wide-mouth tree frog who had managed to weasel his way into the House team, while Malfoy was a Quidditch prodigy. Now, Harry felt like he  _ had _ to make the Hogwarts team, and he wasn’t sure he could. Ravenclaw’s Seeker had graduated, but their reserve, some girl named Chang who Harry didn’t know, was supposedly fairly good. Harry was easily better than McLaggen, the Gryffindor Seeker, but he was fairly certain that  _ anyone _ was better than McLaggen. That left Diggory, from Hufflepuff, who was quite skilled, and any other Hogwarts students who felt they had the gumption to make the school team. 

“You look real nervous, mate,” Ron said through a bite of toast. “Sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Ron.” 

“If you say so.” 

Blaise sidled onto the bench. “You look nervous.”

Harry resisted the urge to hex Blaise. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” he demanded, stabbing his eggs. 

“You look pale, and you’re not actually eating.”

“So?”

“You look nervous,” Blaise repeated. “Is Malfoy getting to you?”

“No,” Harry said sulkily.

“You’re lying.”

“Am not.”

“It’s written all over your face. Look,” Blaise said, tone shifting towards the conspiratorial, “if you go out onto the pitch looking like this, Malfoy has already won. But, if you go out looking real bloody confident, Malfoy’s going to be you-know-what-ing his pants. I’ve seen him fly. He’s good, but you’re  _ great _ .” 

“I know, but --” 

“Finish your eggs, Harry, then we’ll figure out how to scare Malfoy.” Blaise stretched, then reached for the bacon. “Messing with him is my favorite pastime, and this is a mutually beneficial opportunity. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Harry nodded as he took a bite of eggs that had miraculously become less rubbery.

“Excellent. I look forward to it.” 

Half an hour later, Harry, Ron, and what felt like half the school was assembled on the Quidditch pitch. At least a hundred students were roaming around clutching brooms, and many more were crowding the stands, eager to watch the tryouts. 

Harry clutched his Nimbus 2000 tighter, feeling rather nervous and desperately not wanting to show it. 

“You sure it’s okay for me to use this broom?” Ron asked worriedly, switching the Cleansweep Five from hand to hand. They’d snuck out to the Slytherin locker room before tryouts to snag one of the House brooms. Luckily, the Cleansweep Five that Harry had ridden at the beginning of last year had been languishing in the storage closet, and Harry had quickly given Ron permission to borrow it. 

“It’s fine. Flint won’t care.”

“Okay.” 

They stood in silence for several moments. 

“Potter. Weasley,” a familiar voice drawled. 

Harry stifled a groan. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

“Just wanted to let you know you can kiss your spot on the Slytherin House team goodbye,” Malfoy sneered. “My father is sponsoring the Hogwarts team -- bought Nimbus 2001s for everyone -- and next year they’ll be the property of the Slytherin team. Flint said I could have a spot on the team, and I’ve decided I’m going to take yours.” 

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Ron beat him to it. “At least Harry didn’t have to buy his way onto the team, Malfoy,” he said coldly. “He got in on pure talent. You know, I was talking to Blaise earlier and he was saying you weren’t really a great flier. How long is Flint realistically keep you on the team when he discovers that Harry is simply a higher caliber Seeker than you?”

Malfoy flushed dull red. “You -- I -- I have a better broom!”

Ron laughed. “Yeah, well, you know what they say. You can put a troll in a tutu, but it doesn’t mean you can teach it ballet.” 

Malfoy was full-on red now. “You dirty little --”

**_Tweet!_ **

Everyone’s head snapped towards the raised podium at the center of the Pitch where Madam Hooch stood. “Welcome to tryouts! While I am pleased to see such a large turnout, having so many of you is going to complicate things. We’re going to start out with a test of flying abilities. You will do this in groups -- first and second years all the way to my left, then third and fourth years, fifth and sixth years, and lastly, seventh years. You will fly one counterclockwise lap of the Pitch, then weave your way through the agility poles floating in the middle. Any questions? No? Group yourselves.” 

They quickly walked over to Madam Hooch’s left. Much to Harry’s surprise, there was a large number of second years and even a fair smattering of first years who were determined to try out. 

“Ginny! What are you doing here?” Ron demanded suddenly. 

“Trying out, just the same as you!” the short, red haired girl spat back. 

“You don’t even know how to fly!”

“I do too! I’ve been stealing Charlie’s old broom out of the shed for years!” 

Harry looked around while Ron and Ginny continued to bicker. He, Ron, Malfoy, and Hermione’s friend Millicent were the only second year Slytherins trying out. Two of the first years were there too -- Mordred Mulciber, a tall, dark haired boy, and Leila Warrington whose oldest brother Atticus played Beater for the Slytherin House team. Leila’s second oldest brother, Cassius, was almost as good and had been slated to take over from Ian Montague this year after the latter graduated. If Leila was half as good as her brothers, they could have a Warrington Beater dynasty. 

Harry craned his neck. It looked like all of the Gryffindor second years except Longbottom, Patil, and Brown had shown up. Most of the Ravenclaw boys, along with Morag MacDougal, had come as well. Olivier Rivers was the lone representative from Hufflepuff. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been worried that Zacharias Smith would show up. Smith was almost as idiotic as Malfoy, only he was a dumb as a rock, which made everything ten times worse. 

“First and second years, spread yourselves out along the starting line!” 

Harry was jostled slightly as the rest of the students jockeyed for a good spot. Harry pushed past a knot of first year Gryffindor girls and onto the line. 

“On my whistle! Three! Two! One!”  **_Tweet!_ **

Harry kicked off hard. He hadn’t been able to fly the Nimbus much over the summer, but it was like he’d never stopped training. Wind rushed through his hair as the happy swooping sensation filled his stomach. He was flying again, and there was no place he’d rather be. 

Harry leveled his broom off, and urged it forward. Already, there was a pack forming as several of the first years struggled to level their brooms. Harry flattened himself closer to the broom handle in an effort to get to the front. He easily sped past Finnegan and Thomas from Gryffindor and overtook Ron at the end of the straightaway as he caught up with Malfoy. The Nimbus 2001 did have better acceleration than the 2000, but there was a turn coming up, and Harry had a feeling Malfoy wasn’t going to be able to handle both speed and a corner. 

Harry banked the turn, rotating almost sideways on his broom to achieve maximum speed as Draco overshot the turn. Harry could hear faint yelling in the distance, but ignored it. It wasn’t important, not like flying. Flying was practically life itself. 

Blood pounded in Harry’s ears as he rounded the final turn before the agility poles. He breezed through them like a dream -- Flint had them practice various agility exercises all the time, and these were a walk in the park compared to some of the crazier things Flint dreamed up. Harry neatly dodged the last pole and transitioned smoothly into a dive to land next to Madam Hooch.

“Excellent, Potter,” she said absently, eyes glued to the sky, “take a seat in the reserved section of the bleachers. It’ll be awhile until everyone is done.” 

Harry propped his broom against the bleachers and sat down. Ron was pretty easy to spot due to his flaming red hair, and looked to be doing fairly well. Millicent and Malfoy were right on Ron’s tail, and Harry smirked as Millicent body checked Malfoy out of the way to move up next to Ron. Less than a minute later, they landed. Much to Harry’s joy, Malfoy stomped off in a sulk while Ron and Millicent headed over to sit with him. 

“That went better than expected,” Ron commented. “Nice check, by the way.”

Millicent blushed. “Thanks.”

“So, what position are you planning on trying out for?”

“Beater. Me and Leila Warrington are hoping to be the first pair of girl Beaters in recent history once her brothers graduate. There’s been Beaters who are girls, but never just girl Beaters, and me and Leila think that should change. Anyway, I’m guessing Harry’s going to try out for Seeker. What about you, Ron?” 

“Keeper. My brothers always forced me to play it growing up, and now I’m use to it. Plus I’ve got these long noodle arms and I might as well put them to use.” 

“Fair.” 

“Look, Ron,” Harry said, pointing, “It’s your sister.” 

Ginny was walking toward them, flanked by her two of her friends. 

“See, Ron!” she shouted once she was within earshot. “I told you I could fly!” 

“Never said you couldn’t,” Ron mumbled.

Harry looked sideways at him. “You kind of did though.”

“Shh.” 

“Who’re your friends, Ginny?” Harry asked, desperately trying to change the subject. 

Much to his surprise, Ginny pounced on it. “This,” she said, pointing to the girl with brown eyes and a pixie cut, “is Alexa Spinnet, and this,” she continued, pointing to the girl with a head full of braids, “is Abigaile Johnson.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Harry said awkwardly. “I’m Harry Potter.”

The girls giggled, which only made Harry more uncomfortable. 

“So,” he started, “what position are you trying out for?” 

The girls looked at each other. “Chaser,” they said in unison, then giggled again. 

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What with with girls and giggling? 

“We have plans,” Ginny said. “Alexa and Abigaile’s older sisters are on the Gryffindor team, and we plan to take their places when they graduate.”

“Or steal it from them,” Alexa chimed in. 

Abigaile laughed. “Angelina would not be happy if I stole her place!” 

“Can you imagine the look on Alicia’s face if I stole hers?”

The trio descended into giggles once more. Harry looked over at Millicent. “What’s up with the giggling?” he asked, feeling slightly panicked. 

Millicent shrugged. 

“Okay.”

Ginny and her friends moved off to sit with the rest of the Gryffindor contingent, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The giggling was be over. 

Harry leaned back on the bench and turned his eyes skyward. The fifth and sixth years were flying now, and Harry was pretty sure all of them were better than him. He swallowed hard, remembering Blaise’s words from earlier. He had to pretend to be confident. He had to act like he was the best. 

Too bad it was so damn hard. 

All too soon, Madam Hooch blew her whistle again. “Thank you all for coming to tryouts today. There was some truly excellent flying and I hope you all continue to hone your skills regardless of the decisions made today.  I will read out a list of names of who makes the next stage of tryouts. If I call your name, please step into the box to my right. I will start with those from Hufflepuff. Jonathan Abbott, Eli Bell, Cedric Diggory, Richard Fortescue, Heidi MacAvoy, Malcolm Preece, Maxine O’Flaherty, and Olivier Rivers. From Ravenclaw: Roger Davies, Cho Chang, Michael Corner, Terence Gamp, Duncan Inglebee, Morag MacDougal, Aedan Moran, Aoife Moran, and Juliette Stark.”

Nerves were starting to claw at Harry’s stomach. Everyone Hooch was naming was so good… 

“From Gryffindor: Katie Bell, Fay Dunbar, Seamus Finnigan, Angelina Johnson, Euan McGonagall, Cormac McLaggen, Alicia Spinnet, Dean Thomas, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, and Oliver Wood. Lastly, from Slytherin: Miles Bletchley, Millicent Bulstrode, Marcus Flint, Margaretha Fudge, Terence Higgs, Draco Malfoy, Adrian Pucey, Harry Potter, Hector Runcorn, Vera Vane, Atticus Warrington, Cassius Warrington, and Ronald Weasley.” 

“Take that, Malfoy!” Ron crowed. “Nice job, Harry, Millicent.” 

The girl in question was gaping. “I...made it to the next round?”

“Well, yeah. You flew really well.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“You better. C’mon, let’s go.” 

Once everyone was gathered, Madam Hooch spoke again. “Alright, sort yourselves out in terms of position. We’ll be trying out Chasers, then Keepers, then Beaters, then Seekers.” 

Harry tried not to shuffle in nervousness. 

“See you later, mate,” Ron said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Harry said numbly. 

The Chaser tryouts passed by in a blur. Cormac McLaggen kept yammering on about how good of a Seeker he was -- as if everyone didn’t know he was the worst of the lot. Luckily, no one had told Malfoy that, and he and Cormac were busy trying to out brag each other. 

“Cormac is a prat, isn’t he?” said an unfamiliar voice by Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry looked up. “Yeah,” he agreed. “And you are?”

“Euan McGonagall. You’re Harry Potter, I presume. Cormac has complained about you loads.”

“Er, that’s great. You said McGonagall, right? Are you related to Professor McGonagall?”

“Yeah, she’s my aunt. She’s the reason I’m trying out for Quidditch, too. Just between the two of us, she can’t stand McLaggen either.” 

Harry watched as McLaggen continued to brag. “I can see why.” 

“Oh, look, they’ve got the Keepers up in the air now.” 

Harry watched happily as Ron blocked several shots in a row. “Who do you think they’ll pick?” 

“Wood. No offense to Bletchley, because he’s a decent Keeper, but Wood is just phenomenal. Ravenclaw’s Keeper, Aedan Moran, could probably edge out Bletchley but he’s still got nothing on Wood. Hufflepuff’s Keeper, Jonathan Abbott, is just rubbish. He’s a nice lad, but pants at Quidditch. I’m pretty sure your friend Weasley is doing better than him, actually.”

Harry smiled. “Ron will be thrilled.” 

“Flint looks thrilled,” Euan commented. “He knows he’s got a pretty good Keeper lined up for when Bletchley graduates. Wish I could say the same for Gryffindor. Once Wood graduates we’ll be trash. We’ve got good Chasers and Beaters, but without a good Keeper or Seeker we’ll be lucky to win half our matches.” 

“That sucks,” Harry said, turning his attention once more towards the sky. Hooch was putting the Beaters through their paces now. Millicent seemed to be holding her own, but the competition was clearly dominated by the Weasley twins and the Warrington brothers. Atticus was clearly the strongest of the four, but the Weasley twins worked together like one. Cassius looked like he was crumbling a bit under the pressure, but was still doing better than anyone else, except for maybe Millicent. 

Finally, it was time for the Seekers. Harry kicked off the ground with a degree of trepidation, then relaxed as the butterflies in his stomach magically floated away.

“Seekers, circle up!” Madam Hooch barked. “We’re going to start out with a series of simple catch drills, then work up to actual Snitches. Is everyone clear? Yes? Excellent. Form a line, please, and catch as many of the balls as you can. 

Madam Hooch began chucking charmed ping pong balls around the Pitch. Harry dove after them, and managed to catch all the ones in his batch. To his great pleasure, Malfoy and McLaggen couldn’t say the same. 

Time seemed to zoom forward, and suddenly it was time for the final trial. 

“In this last trial,” Hooch began, “you’ll be matched up with another Seeker. Your job is to find the Snitch first. Our pairs are as follows: McLaggen and Malfoy, McGonagall and Chang, Potter and Diggory. McLaggen and Malfoy, I’m releasing the Snitch...you may go.” 

The duo sped off, and twenty minutes later McLaggen returned with a black eye and the Snitch. “Good work, McLaggen. Next up, McGonagall and Chang. Ready...go!”

Euan sped off, and Harry found himself wishing the Gryffindor luck. The competition between the two Seekers was closer than it had been with McLaggen and Malfoy. Sixteen minutes in, Chang was about to catch the Snitch when Euan managed to use his substantially longer reach to grab it out of her fingers. 

“Excellent job, you two. Last, Potter and Diggory.” 

Harry edged his broom forward, heart in his throat. Madam Hooch released the Snitch, and Harry’s eyes locked in on it. Vaguely, in the background, he heard Madam Hooch yell go, and he immediately pointed his broom handle straight towards the ground. Diggory was a good Seeker, and if Harry was to beat him, he’d have to use tactics and skill. With any luck, Diggory would fall for the feint. 

Chest aligned with the handle, Harry plummeted earthward. There was a slight whoosh behind him, and Harry’s heart leapt. Diggory was following him. He’d fallen for it. 

The ground grew closer. Six meters. Five. Four. Three. Two. Two and a half.

Harry pulled out out of the dive and rocketed back upwards. There was a shout behind him -- possibly Cedric hitting the ground -- and there was the Snitch, lingering by the announcer’s podium. Eyes locked in, Harry accelerated forward, arm reaching, fingers grasping, closing around cold metal. 

Scarcely believing his luck, Harry flew back to where Hooch was waiting with the other Seekers. “Good work, Potter. All of you may return to the ground while I deliberate.” 

Harry neatly dove to the ground, and was immediately greeted by Flint. 

“Potter. We need to talk.” 

The nervous butterflies immediately returned. “Okay?”

“Follow me.”

Harry followed Flint, heart in his mouth. This was when Flint was going to say that somehow, despite his obvious incompetence, Malfoy had made the House team…

“Where the fuck did you learn that feint, Potter?” 

Harry’s mind backtracked several paces. “What?”

“The feint, Potter, the Wronski Feint. How’d did you learn to do it so damn well?” 

“Uh, I made it up?”

“Bloody buggering hell!”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t be sorry, it was perfectly executed. Diggory was centimeters away from splattering himself across the Pitch.”

“Oh.”

“ _ Yeah. _ ” 

Silence hung in the air for a moment.

“Uh, Malfoy was saying something about being on the team next year?” Harry hedged. 

Much to Harry’s surprise, Flint groaned. “Yeah, his father made me an offer I couldn’t refuse -- a gift of Nimbus 2001s for the team plus Lord Malfoy said he’d see if he can pull on any of his contacts in the professional Quidditch world. I had to stay back to repeat my sixth year, so I won’t be graduating with Bletchley and Pucey. I’ll need another Chaser, and I told Lord Malfoy that his son could play Chaser as long as there wasn’t anyone who was head and shoulders better than him.”

“Oh. Malfoy said he was going to play Seeker.”

“Malfoy is also an idiot. I thought you’d established this by now.” 

“Uh, yeah. Thanks, Flint.”

“No problem. If you see them, tell Weasley, Bulstrode, and little Warrington to come talk to me. I want them to start joining team practices when we start up again. Bletchley is graduating this year, and Weasley looks like our best prospect at a new Keeper. I also want Bulstrode to start working with Cassius and Leila so she’ll be ready to fill Atticus’ place. Cassius’ main problem today was that he wasn’t ready to work intuitively with Atticus, and I don’t want that to be a problem for Bulstrode moving forward.”

“I’ll tell them that.”

“Great. Good luck, Potter.”

“Thanks.” 

Harry headed off to find Ron. He was just sitting down when Madam Hooch’s voice boomed once more.

“Attention! The roster for Hogwarts’ team for the International Scholastic Tournament has been finalized. Due to the high risk nature of Quidditch, I have designated a primary team, and also a full team of reserves who will practice with the primary team. If anyone becomes injured or fails to fulfill their duties as a team member, I have another shortlist individuals who I would be more than happy to invite to fill their place. The primary team roster is as follows: your Keeper will be Oliver Wood. Your Chasers are Roger Davies, Marcus Flint, and Angelina Johnson. Your Beaters are Fred and George Weasley. Lastly, your Seeker is Harry Potter!”

The nervous butterflies staged a mass exodus as a happy balloon filled Harry’s chest. He, Harry, had just been named Hogwarts’ Seeker,  _ and _ he was guaranteed his spot on the Slytherin team next year. The day really couldn’t have gone any better. 

“The reserve team will be: Aedan Moran, Keeper; Aoife Moran, Adrian Pucey, Alicia Spinnet, Chasers; Cassius and Atticus Warrington, Beaters, and Cedric Diggory, Seeker.” 

Beside him, Ron sighed. “I was really hoping to make reserve Keeper.” 

“Flint wants to talk to you, actually,” Harry said. “You, Millicent, and Leila, that is. He wants you guys to practice with the Slytherin team once we’re back in season. I think you’re pretty much guaranteed the Keeper position next year.”

Ron’s face lit up like a tree on Yule. “Really?”

“Really.”

Ron grinned. “C’mon, let’s go meet all your new fans.” 

Harry groaned. With the way the school year was going, the last word he wanted to hear was ‘fans’. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to all who have commented or left kudos! :D
> 
> Update on my writing progress: I’ve finished up through the first scene of chapter fifteen, which puts me over half way through writing White Knight. Volume three is already outlined as well. Given my speedy progress (and those comments that inspire me even more), you guys should be able to expect an extra chapter midweek provided my betas have time to edit.


	7. No Longer Just a Game

 

_Slytherin Common Room_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

_17 September 1992_

 

“It’s going to be great,” Ron enthused. “Flint said he wasn’t sure how often and how demanding the Hogwarts team practices would be, and he wants all the Slytherins to be ready for next season. Bletchley is going to be running practices for us when Flint isn’t around -- just Chaser and Keeper drills, you know. I’m going to get to play Keeper a bit, which is awesome, and they’re training Millicent to be Atticus’ replacement so she can work just as well with Cassius as she can with Leila. We’re also running a whole new group of Chasers,” Ron continued, ignoring Harry’s slightly glassy eyed expression. Sure, he’d already told Harry about Flint’s great plans for the team, but he hasn’t told him the new Chaser drama yet! “Apparently Malfoy bought his way onto the team. He thought he was going to play Seeker, though, so he’s been mighty sulky recently. He hasn’t been, ah, playing nice with the other Chasers -- Hector Runcorn and Vera Vane, from the year above us -- and Flint actually threatened to kick him off the team!”

“That’d be great,” Harry said.

“I know, right? He’s such a prat. I can’t believe --”

“What can’t you believe, Weasley?” a snide voice interrupted. “That your stupid mother hasn’t kicked the bucket yet?”

Ron could feel rage burning inside him. “Hello to you too, Malfoy. I see you’ve managed to come up with a new insult. Did your father have to help you with that one?”

“At least my father is still around, unlike your idiotic one!” Malfoy spat back.

“At least my father taught me to think for myself!” Ron retorted. “Tell me, Malfoy, who won the past four chess tournaments? Me. Not you. Me.”

“All luck and bribes, Weasley.”

“Luck doesn’t happen four times in a row. Besides, given the amount of times you’ve called my family poor, you know I don’t have the money to pay bribes...unlike _you_ , cheater.”

Malfoy flushed. “I do not cheat. Malfoys don’t cheat.”

“Yeah, right,” Ron sneered, anger sitting low in his stomach and thoughts of a plan whirling through his mind. “You know what, I bet you’re too scared to face me right now.”

“I’m not,” Malfoy said, puffing himself up.

“Good. Then you won’t be afraid of putting stakes on the table.”

Malfoy looked a tad nervous. “What sort of stakes?”

“If I win, you have to lay off insulting my family,” Ron said.

“And if I win?” Malfoy’s face was calculating.

“You devise your own bet.”

Malfoy grinned. “If I win, you have to toady around to me for the rest of the year!”

“It’s a deal.” Ron held out his hand, and Malfoy shook it. “Game on. Let me get my chess set.” Ron all but ran to his dormitory, taking the stairs two at a time. When all was said and done, Malfoy wasn’t a terrible chess player. Sure, he wasn’t particularly innovative, but he could play the game pretty well. The thing was, Ron was simply better. He’d been playing longer, playing more desperately, and playing against harder opponents.

Besides, he didn’t limit himself to studying wizarding chess theory alone. Hermione had sent him a book over the summer detailing the latest development in muggle chess theory, and Ron had found it completely and utterly _fascinating_. There was something about the way moves interlocked and how possibilities spiraled out into the unknown that drew him in, like a niffler to gold. Sure, there were wizarding books on chess, and some that even discussed, compared, and contrasted wizarding and muggle chess strategies -- not that Malfoy would have touched any of those with a ten meter pole.

Ron smiled grimly as his hands closed in on his grandfather’s chess set. Malfoy had no idea what he was in for.

Malfoy curled his lip in disdain. “What, we’re playing on this pathetic old thing?” he asked, glaring at the faded wood of Ron’s chessboard. “At least I have my own chessmen. I wouldn’t want to play with those disgusting things you have.”

Ron quirked an eyebrow. Thomas Weasley’s chess set had been handed down first to Ron’s father, then to him. The chess pieces knew him. They trusted him. And there was something else, too. It was something beyond mere chess pieces that Ron couldn’t quite name. It was a distinct advantage, and one that Malfoy didn’t seem to understand.

“I get to go first, right?” Malfoy demanded.

Ron shrugged. “If you really want to.”

Malfoy drew himself up imperiously. “I do.”

“Here, take white then.”

Malfoy seized the pieces, cockiness etched in every line of his body. Internally, Ron smirked. Malfoy hadn’t been reading up on muggle chess theory. He hadn’t read the works of George Walker, a muggle chess analyst from 1846 who’d explained quite clearly that ‘the first move is an advantage, but if answered properly is of little worth.’

Ron wholeheartedly planned on answering Malfoy’s first move properly.

“Are you ready, Weasley?”

“Of course I am.”

Malfoy sneered. “Pawn to e4.”

Ron studied the board. He had two options -- mirror Malfoy’s move, which would allow him to move into the Ruy Lopez, the Giuoco Piano, or the King’s Gambit, or he could attempt something else -- perhaps the Sicilian Defense, the French Defense, or Caro-Kann.

Ron smiled. “Pawn to c4.” He’d see how Malfoy liked the Sicilian Dragon Defense.

“Knight to f3.”

“Knight to c6.”

“Pawn to d4.”

“Pawn to d4.” Ron smiled as his pawn smacked Malfoy’s pawn to the ground and proceeded to drag it off the chessboard.

Malfoy’s lips tightened. “Knight to d4.” Malfoy’s knight smashed Ron’s pawn. Ron resisted the urge to smile. Malfoy was playing right into his hands…

“Knight to f6.”

“Knight to c3.”

“Pawn to d6.”

“Bishop to e2.”

Ron took a moment to reevaluate the board. Had Malfoy really moved his bishop to e2? It appeared he had -- and that was the beginning of his first misstep. “Pawn to g6,” Ron countered smoothly.

The game began in earnest. Ron pressed his defense forward, and Malfoy was forced to lose ground -- and lose pieces. By the time they had progressed solidly into the middlegame, a small crowd had formed around their table. Jeers quickly filled the air, but Ron ignored them. If he could focus enough to play chess in the pub where he worked, he could play chess anywhere.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was starting to look stressed. He’d lost too many powerful pieces early in the game, and would need a miracle or a huge blunder on Ron’s behalf to win the game. Ron wasn’t planning on making mistakes.

He cracked his knuckles. It was time to start moving into the endgame. Carefully, ever so carefully, he starting herding Malfoy’s pieces into a corner, picking off the remaining bishop in the meantime. By sacrificing a castle, he was finally able to take out Malfoy’s queen, and after that, it was only a matter of moves before Ron boxed in Malfoy’s king.

“Checkmate.”

Malfoy gaped.

“I believe we had a bet,” Ron said, feeling incredibly suave.

“I --”

“I better not hear any insults from you regarding my family,” Ron interrupted before moving to clean up the chessboard. “After all, a deal is a deal.”

Malfoy opened his mouth, then closed it before stomping off. Some of the crowd slunk off with him, but others cheered -- cheered for him, Ron Weasley, second year chess player. It was completely absurd, and Ron couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Harry burst through the crowd. “That was awesome!” he enthused. “Did you see the look on Malfoy’s face when he lost? Priceless!”

“Yeah, I saw,” Ron replied, starting to feel a little overwhelmed. “Uh, I gotta go put my chess set away -- give me a minute.”

Ron hurried away towards the dormitory stairs. All the attention had suddenly become oppressive, and he needed to get away.

“Mr. Weasley.”

Ron paused, halfway into placing his foot on the step. “Yes? Sir?”

“That was a well-played game of chess.”

Ron turned to face the professor. “Thank you, sir.”

Professor Snape frowned slightly. “If you are to improve your craft, you will need to face more challenging opponents than Mr. Malfoy. I would suggest speaking to Mr. Urquhart. He and Mr. Patil run the Slytherin House chess league. You could stand to benefit from such an experience.”

Ron’s mind spun. “Thank you again, sir. I will definitely speak with them.”

“See that you do.” Professor Snape spun on his heel and stalked away in a swirl of black robes.

Ron marveled for a moment. How did Professor Snape manage to get his robes to spin so perfectly every time?

* * *

 

_Hogwarts Library_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

_18 September 1992_

 

“Hey, uh, Urquhart?” Ron started nervously. “Could I ask you something?”

The dark haired boy didn’t bother looking up from his parchment. “Call me Barclay,” he said, quill scratching furiously, “and yes you may.”

“Er,” Ron said eloquently, “Professor Snape said you and Patil run a chess thing for Slytherins? I was wondering if I could join?”

Barclay stopped writing. “Yeah. Me and Palin are co-chairs of the Slytherin Chess Society. I heard about your game with Malfoy yesterday. Rumor has it you beat him to a pulp.”

“Eh, there are nicer ways of putting it.”

“It’s Malfoy. Little arse tried to join the chess society first year despite the fact that he is _not_ good at chess and obnoxious. Anyway, back to you. Of course you can join.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’ve won the youth tournament for the past four years, and just trounced Malfoy in front of the entire House. We meet Saturday mornings after breakfast to practice, and we have mock tournaments once a month on Sundays against Ravenclaw. We’re also trying to reach out to some of the other wizarding schools to see if we can do an international tournament, but that’d be several years down the road.”

“That sounds amazing -- all of it. Who else is in the chess society?”

Barclay grinned. “No one else below third year. Let’s see, there’s me and Palin,

obviously, Flora Carrow, Julius Fudge, and Margaret Montague. Having you will be nice, actually, because before we had a odd number and someone would have to sit out.”

“Okay.”

“Do you read chess strategy much, Ron?”

“Yeah. This might be a bit controversial, but I’ve actually read some muggle books on the subject and I thought they were really useful.”

Barclay nodded sagely. “Look, between the two of us, muggles really do know their chess. Just don’t mention that around Flora or she’ll go crazy -- you know how her family is.”

“I’ve heard things,” Ron said. While both Carrow sisters were quite nice, their family had a reputation for being hardline blood purists.

“Good, good. I’m glad to know that you’re on top of real world things, too. Anyhow, for chess books, I suggest asking Pince for some recommendations. Turns out she’s a real chess fanatic and has some good books stashed in the back that she’ll lend out if you’re actually devoted to the game.”

Ron stored that bit of information for later. “Wow, I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t either -- not until I asked, of course!”   

Ron chuckled. “That’s fair. Thanks for the tip.”

“No problem. I’m always happy to help another Slytherin out.”

Barclay returned to his homework, and Ron headed up to the librarian’s desk. “Madam Pince?”

The librarian scowled at him through her pince-nez glasses. “A Weasley in the library. I trust you take after your brothers William and Percival?”

“Yes, of course,” Ron hurriedly assured her. “I’m looking for books on chess strategy.”

“Ah. I was wondering when you would ask that.” Pince said. “Congratulations on your win over the summer. Have you read strategy books yet, or is this your first foray into the world of chess academia?”

“Oh, thanks,” Ron said, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I’ve read some books, but nothing really advanced. I just joined the Slytherin Chess Society, actually, and I figured I’d need to study some more technical theory if I have any hope at beating them.”

Pince gave him a long evaluating stare. “Hmm. Didn’t think they let anyone in who was below third year.”

“I guess I’m the exception.”

“Huh.” The librarian stood. “Follow me, then.”

Several minutes later, Ron was laden down with more books than he could carry. Once he’d started discussing his current strategy with Pince, she’d pulled book after book off the library shelves, and even gone into the backroom to find two more dusty volumes. “I’ll shrink these down for you, so you can get them all back to your dorm,” Pince said helpfully. “Just say ‘ _grande’_ and tap them once with your wand when you want to restore them to their original size. I usually only let books out of the library for two weeks at a time, but you seem like a responsible lad, so I’ll let you have them for a month. If you need them longer, stop by the desk and I’ll renew them for you.”

“Okay. Thank you, Madam Pince.” Ron staggered back to the dorm, feeling more like Hermione every second. Plonking the books down on his desk, Ron grinned. It was time to embrace his inner Ravenclaw.

 


	8. Milady, Milord

# 

_ Whitcomb Hall _

_ Yorkshire, England _

_ 20 September 1992 _

 

“I trust the tea is to your taste, Lady Longbottom?” Amelia asked. 

The Longbottom matriarch waved an airy hand. “Do call me Augusta, and yes, it is quite lovely. The cinnamon flavor complements the natural taste of the tea.” 

“Call me Amelia, then. There’s no need for formalities if we’re going to be working so closely together, after all.” 

“Indeed. The education bill you have co-sponsored is about to go into the voting phase.”

“I really appreciated your support on it. By my last count, the resolution will pass by a large margin.” 

“That is excellent news. I know my Neville would have benefited greatly from more socialization at a young age -- he’s so quiet, you know, and his only close friend is that Roger Malone. You know, the one with the crazy Modernist father?” 

“I’ve heard of him. His sister, Leanne, is one of Susan’s roommates. Susan says she’s a nice girl, although they aren’t close friends. It’s a shame about the father.”

Augusta tsked. “Back in my day, no one would dream of putting forth such preposterous politics. The Modernist stance of integrating fully with muggle technology? Completely and utterly ridiculous! Besides, they want to eradicate our traditions. And,” Augusta leaned in slightly, “you know what they say. The late Lord Weasley was rumored to consort with them prior to his passing.”

Amelia gasped. “Arthur Weasley?”

“The very same.”

“I don’t believe it!” Amelia exclaimed. “Arthur was as Progressive as they come, but a

Modernist? He had some respect for our traditions.”

“And an unhealthy fascination with muggles -- not that I would speak ill of the dead.” 

“Of course not,” Amelia said hastily. Speaking with Augusta truly was like navigating a field full of Venomous Tentacula. 

Augusta sipped her tea. “Did you hear the news regarding Lord Prince?” 

“Nothing, other than the fact he’d recently taken ill.” 

“Mm. Well, Lord Prince has finally decided to take an heir.” 

Genealogy charts flitted briefly through Amelia’s mind. “Who? I remember Erasmus’ son, Septimus, dying several years ago of dragon pox, and his daughter Helen fled to America during the Dark Uprising, putting her out of the running. The Prince seat is patrilineal, besides.”

Augusta smiled smugly. “Lord Prince had a grandson.”

“ _ Had _ a grandson?”

“He had to blood adopt him. As far as the laws of magic are concerned, Erasmus Prince now has a living son.” 

“Interesting. I thought the old blood adoption rituals had been largely disregarded.” 

“Ritual magic itself has largely fallen out of favor, the exception being the Irish covens, but blood rituals will still take place among the older, and might I say  _ darker _ families. It is not restricted to those illustrious few, however. I have it on good authority that House Dagworth’s line had to been replenished several generations ago with individuals from the Dagworth-Granger cadet branch.” 

Amelia nodded as she sipped her tea. 

“I think it is there, in fact that we may find a solution to one of the largest questions on the Wizengamot.”

“I’m not quite following you,” Amelia said slowly, trying to put the pieces together.

“Four words. Who is Thomas Gaunt?”

“I don’t understand. It’s indisputable that he is Lord Gaunt -- the tests at the Department of Mysteries proved it. Besides, he wears the Peverell signet ring which was last seen in the hands of Morfin Gaunt -- would that man give up the ring to anyone but his rightful heir?  _ Oh. _ ”

“Now you see.”

“You don’t think Thomas Gaunt is the son of Morfin?” 

“I do not. Morfin Gaunt was several years my senior, but I remember my mother telling the most appalling stories about him. There were photographs of him in the  _ Daily Prophet  _ as well, after he was put on trial all those years ago for murdering a family of muggles, and, let me tell you, a more hideous man could not be found.” 

“So who do you think blood adopted him, then? Morfin’s sister, Merope?”

“No. She would have been dead long before Thomas was born, assuming he is actually fifty-five years old.”

“There isn’t anyone else left, is there?”

“Only Tom Riddle. He was Merope’s half blood son. The father was a muggle from the village, if the rumors are true.”

“What happened to Tom Riddle?”

“Nobody knows. He disappeared several years after he graduated Hogwarts, and is presumed to be dead. He worked for Borgin and Burke’s, you know, over in Knockturn Alley. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had ran afoul of something or another.” 

“That seems logical,” Amelia mused. “So you think Tom Riddle blood adopted Thomas Gaunt?”

“Yes -- Tom Riddle was never married, according to Ministry records. If Thomas Gaunt was his child, he would have been born out of wedlock, and not with the surname of Gaunt.” Augusta shrugged, somehow making the gesture elegant and deliberate. “Tom Riddle is the only, if highly illogical choice.”

* * *

 

_ Dormitory Room of the Tsarevich _

_ Koldovstoretz, Russia _

_ 20 September 1992 _

 

It was always cold in Russia, but the rooms of the tsarevich were always warm. Eduard Nikolay Dolohov, son of Tsar Sergei Dolohov and Madelaine Delacour, and the sole heir to the Russian throne, burrowed his feet deeper under his chimaera skin rug. Chewing thoughtfully on a quill, he effortlessly summoned parchment and paper. 

_ Chère Maman, _

_ I am glad to hear that your luncheon with our cousins went off without a hitch. It was quite refreshing to hear some intellectual discourse in lieu of the usual drivel from my peers. I know you are anxious to hear of the developments at school. Team tryouts for the school Quidditch team have just culminated, and you will be pleased to hear that cousin Ivan made the team as Chaser, along with his cousin Vladimir. The rest of the team is other boys from lesser known families, except for the Seeker, Elena Vasilieva. She is a fierce competitor, and anyone who underestimates the strength of our team and our Seeker will be quite disappointed! I somewhat miss playing Quidditch, but I completely understand where you are coming from. I am the only heir, and I must take care of myself, else the throne may fall to our relatives in the British Isles.  _

_ On a very distant note, cousin Viktor owled me that he made Seeker on the Durmstrang team. While this is unsurprising as he was selected for the junior Bulgarian national team last summer and will surely make the national team when he is of age, it was pleasant to hear from him. Viktor says Durmstrang has a strong team this year, and he hopes we are matched against each other during the tournament. I, too, hope Koldovstoretz faces Durmstrang. For one, it would be pleasant to see Viktor more than once a year, and for two, I would get to laugh at him when he loses. Truly, I do not wish to be impolite, but Viktor so hates to not win!  _

_ In your last letter you spoke of a potential French witch you and Father were thinking of for my future wife. I looked into the matter myself and other than Louise du Feu, I find there are no suitable candidates. Fleur Delacour is your own cousin, which would make the marriage redundant, and Apolline Malfoy is four years my junior! It would be a preposterous match! I feel you were jesting, and if so, you had me for a moment.  _

_ I must return to my studies -- my course load is quite strenuous this year. I am proud to say that my Mermish is finally coming along, though my Gobbledegook is still incomprehensible. Never fear, I will keep trying. A tsarevich has an important image to uphold, after all.  _

_ Je vous adore, Maman.  _

_ Ton fils, _

_ Eduard  _

A light puff of air from his wand quickly dried the ink. Eduard rolled the parchment tightly into a scroll, dropped a blob of crimson wax onto it, and pressed his signet ring into the wax. A moment later, the Dolohov crest as well as several light enchantments was imprinted on the wax. Eduard snapped his fingers. 

“Rasputin!” 

The little owl clacked its beak in mock annoyance. 

“Take this letter to Mother, please.” 

Looking slightly disgruntled, Rasputin stuck out his leg so Eduard could attach the letter. 

Eduard propped open the window. “Fly safe.” 

Rasputin shot him an inscrutable look, then disappeared out the window. Eduard closed it, shivering slightly. Of all places to put a school, the power that be had chosen an Unplottable valley in northern Russia. While the valley usually stayed warmer than the surrounding area, wind would occasionally blast through, making it quite chilly. 

Eduard shuffled his feet on the floor. If only Koldovstoretz was in St. Petersburg! It was actually warm there. 

A knock sounded on the door. Eduard took a hastily glance in the mirror. Despite his close-cropped hair cut, the infamous Dolohov curls threatened to spiral off into oblivion. Cursing his luck -- his mother had perfectly reasonable hair, after all -- Eduard opened the door. 

“Hullo, coz.” 

Eduard stepped aside to let Ivan pass through. “What brings you here?” 

“Hiding.”

“From what?” 

The blonde wizard cracked a grin. “My sisters.” 

Eduard groaned. “What do they want this time?”

Ivan hopped neatly over Eduard’s trunk. “Who knows. To bother me, perhaps? To make my very existence unbearable?” Ivan flicked his wand, and several Transfiguration and Dark Arts textbooks soared over to Eduard’s desk, along with some parchment. “At any rate, you, my fine friend, will sit here and do homework while I hide so that when my sisters invariably come along, you can direct them to a different locale. Kappish?” 

Eduard rolled his eyes. “Anything for you, cousin.”

“That’s the spirit!”

No sooner had Ivan hid and Eduard had cracked opened his Transfiguration book then a knock sounded at the door.

“Who is it?” he asked warily.

Giggles sounded from the other side of the door.

Sighing, he stood to open it, revealing the usual suspects: Darya and Ekaterina Morozova. 

“Have you seen our brother?” Darya asked, all wide eyed innocence and bouncy curls.

“We’ve been looking for him  _ all day _ !” Ekaterina exclaimed with a pout. 

“Do you know where he is?”

“I’m afraid I do not,” Eduard said smoothly. “Perhaps he’s in the library working on his homework -- like I was doing and like you two  _ should  _ be doing.”

The sisters exchanged a look. “I don’t think I believe you,” Darya said.

“Plus we’re all done with our homework!” Ekaterina added.

“We’ll check the library, though,” Darya continued. “And if he’s not there, we’ll be back!”

They stomped off, and Eduard closed the door.

“Close call, eh?”

Ivan climbed up from behind the trunk. “I’ve had worse. Last time they actually did find me, and I was subjected to an absurd amount of hugs.”

“Hugs?”

“Yes. It was terribly degrading, and all their little first and second year friends thought it was incredibly funny.” 

Eduard clucked his tongue. “Poor, poor Ivan.”

“It was a terrifying experience!” Ivan exclaimed, indigence etched into every line of his face. “You have no idea!”

“I’m sure of that,” Eduard said drily. “Get on a move on now.”

“Why?”

“I have to do homework.”

“You weren’t lying to those little monsters?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Shame. Good luck on that Transfiguration paper.” Ivan stalked off, leaving Eduard alone with his thoughts. With any luck, he and Ivan would still be friends once Eduard became tsar. He couldn’t imagine life without his absurd cousin at his side. 

Eduard shook his head. ‘ _ Enough of the ridiculous melancholy. You need to be the best, and in order to be the best, you need to do your work.’ _

He bent his head over his parchment, and moments later, his quill began scribbling furiously.


	9. Quidditch Complications

# 

 

_ Great Hall _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 22 September 1992 _

 

“Harry! Harry!” 

Harry looked up from his toast to see frantically waving Hermione running toward him brandishing the  _ Daily Prophet. _

“The Quidditch bracket has been published!” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really! Move over!” 

Harry scooted closer to Ron, and Hermione plopped down on the bench next to him.

“See, look, it’s right here in the sports section!”

Instantly, there was a mass clamoring for copies of the newspaper as the rest of the House caught on. 

Harry flipped rapidly to the correct page of the paper and spread it out on the table, Ron, Hermione, Theo and Blaise all crowding in to get a look. 

 

_ INTERNATIONAL SCHOLASTIC QUIDDITCH TOURNAMENT BRACKET ANNOUNCED _

_ by Ralph Whizzle  _

 

_ Fresh off the press is our first look at the International Scholastic Tournament Bracket! Matches are not scheduled to begin until November, which will only increase the tension for our young athletes. The primary round of matches is as follows: _

**_Bracket One:_ **

_ Match A: Durmstrang Institute versus Bombay Institute of Magical Learning _

_ Match B: Castelobruxo versus Beauxbatons Academy of Magic _

**_Bracket Two:_ **

_ Match C: Mahoutokoro School of Magic versus Mongolian Academy of Magic _

_ Match D: Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry versus Alexandria School of Witchcraft and Wizardry _

**_Bracket Three:_ **

_ Match E: Tang Taizong School versus Uluru Academy of Magical Arts _

_ Match F: Loihi versus Choquequirao _

**_Bracket Four:_ **

_ Match G: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry versus Uagadou School of Magic _

_ Match H: Koldovstoretz versus Karakoram School of Magic _

_ The winner of Match A will play the winner of Match B, the winner of Match C will face the winner of Match D, the winner of Match E will compete against the winner of Match F, and the winner of Match G will vie with the winner of Match H. The semi-final rounds of the tournament will be held between the victors of Bracket One and Bracket Two and the victors of Bracket Three and Bracket Four. The finals match will be between the winners of the semifinals.  _

_ Schools are still finalizing their team rosters, and next week we will take a closer look at each of the teams.  _

 

**_Ralph Whizzle is a former Chaser for the Falmouth Falcons._ **

 

“So,” Harry started. “Does anyone know anything about Uagadou School of Magic?”

Blaise stretched lazily. “It’s located in Uganda, up in the Mountains of the Moon. It’s one of the big two schools of magic on the African continent -- the other is the Alexandria School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which is located in Egypt.”

“Hold on,” Hermione interrupted. “There’s only two wizarding schools for the entirety of Africa?” 

Blaise chuckled. “Of course not. Many of the wizarding tribes in Africa have their own informal schools. Their local shamans, or wise men and wise women, teach the children, and they often have exchange programs with other tribes as well. There’s also the Sahara School of Magic, located in an Unplottable oasis in the middle of the Sahara Desert, and Ituri Academy, located in the depths of the Ituri rainforest.”

“Oh. That does make a lot more sense.” 

“Wait! There’s more than sixteen magic schools?” Harry asked.

Everyone looked at him in disbelief. 

“Harry, there’s a lot more than sixteen magic schools,” Ron said. “Did you hear Blaise?”

“Yeah, but my brain didn’t really put two and two together,” Harry replied, feeling rather sheepish. “So, what other schools are there?”

“Let’s see,” Blaise began. “There’s the Babylonian School of Magical Foundations, located in Iraq; Olympus, located in Greece; Québec Academy of Magic, located in Canada; and Ferviditious, located in Italy. I can’t remember any others, except for the Irish Academy of Magic, but we’re not really supposed to talk about them.”

“How come?”

Blaise looked around, then lowered his voice. “It’s a very touchy subject. In 1922 a civil war broke out between the Irish covens. The northern covens were more ‘light’ while the southern covens leaned more neutral or ‘dark’. During that time in Britain, there’d been a recent resurgence of the Progressive party, which aligned more closely with the northern covens views. Naturally, the northern covens wanted to secede from Ireland to join Britain, and the southern covens did not. The result was a bloody war. The north did end up seceding, and the south decided they were better off without the contradictory influence of the north anyway.”

Hermione frowned. “That doesn’t seem so bad.”

Blaise quirked an eyebrow. “The south withdrew all their students from Hogwarts and formed their own wizarding school. After the loss of the Iberian -- Portuguese and Spanish students -- back in the 1800s, it was a real blow on the student population of Hogwarts. The Irish school is small, only about two hundred and fifty students, but it was a significant amount. Hogwarts use to have solidly over one thousand students, but between the loss of the southern Irish, and the Dark Uprising in the 1970s, enrollment has dropped a lot. Ron could probably tell you a fair bit about that.”

Harry cast a look at his friend, who’d suddenly become withdrawn. “Ron?”

There was a heavy pause. “My father was one of five,” Ron finally began. “He was never supposed to inherit the Weasley seat, let alone the Gryffindor and Prewett ones. He had three older brothers: Lysander, Robert, and Walter, and a younger sister, Elizabeth. The Prewett seat comes from Mum’s side, of course, but Lysander was suppose to inherit the Weasley seat and Robert the Gryffindor seat.” Ron swallowed hard. “Lysander married Esther Marchbanks. They had three children: Lyonel, Ophelia, and Jocelyn. They were all murdered during the Dark Uprising. Robert married Celeste Sinistra. They had two children, Isabella and Jacob. They were also killed during the Dark Uprising. Walter married Elise Urquhart. They had one child, Joseph. Walter...he was suspected to be a Death Eater spy by the Aurors. He was killed on sight, and his wife and son were disowned from House Weasley and exiled to the Continent. I don’t know what happened to them. Elizabeth was a spy, but for our side. Unfortunately, the Death Eaters figured it out and she was murdered, too.”

Harry felt sick to his stomach. “Ron...I didn’t know…”

Ron shrugged. “I never knew any of them. Still, I wonder what it would have been like, growing up with cousins. Mum’s brothers, Fabian and Gideon, also died during the war along with their families so I don’t have relations on that side either, besides Great-Aunt Muriel. Sometimes, I wonder if Dad wouldn’t have died if he’d had his brothers around. I’ll never know, though.” 

Hermione sprang up from the bench and wrapped Ron in a hug. “Ron!” 

“Geroff, Hermione, I’m fine.” 

Hermione returned to her seat, and Ron shot Harry a look of pure relief. 

“So the war was that bad, then?” Harry asked. 

Theo stared. “You really don’t know?”

“I’ve read some books!” Harry said quickly. “They didn’t really say anything about a death toll, though. Just stuff about ideology and how it ended.”

Theo and Blaise sighed in unison. “I suppose that’s fair,” Theo said. “Look, Harry, it’s not something we really talk about. There’s too many people who lost relatives to one side or another, and when you add in accusations about whose relative did what, it gets nasty very quickly. Just drop it, okay?”

“But --”

“Don’t you have to be at Quidditch practice?”

Harry glanced at the clock. “Bugger! Yes, I do, in five minutes!” Harry rapidly shoveled down several fork loads of eggs and grabbed his remaining slices of toast. “See you guys later!” he called over his shoulder. 

“Good luck, Harry!” Hermione shouted back. 

Harry power walked across the Entrance Hall, through the front doors, and across the grounds. Detouring quickly to the Slytherin locker room to grab his broom, he arrived just in the nick of time. Harry slid into the first row of seats next to Flint. 

“Just in time, Potter,” Flint muttered as Madam Hooch strode out from underneath the bleachers. 

“Welcome,” Hooch began, “to Team Hogwarts. Everyone here -- first string players and reserves -- has been selected because they are one of the strongest players Hogwarts has to offer. You may have been the best on your House team, but that goes out the window for now. The moment you step on this Pitch, you are no longer Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. You are Hogwarts, and if anyone cannot set House rivalries aside for the sake of the team, they will be immediately asked to leave. I have dozens of students begging to be in your positions, so I expect you to seize this opportunity with both hands and work together. 

“That being said, we have several logistics to go over. We will practice Monday through Friday from 4:00 pm to 6:00 pm. Monday and Thursday will be split between agility exercises and drills. Tuesday’s practice will focus mostly on drills, Wednesday will be conditioning and strength training down on the Pitch, and Friday we will scrimmage. Any questions?”

One of the Weasley twins raised his hand. “Mr. Weasley?” 

“What exactly is this...strength training and conditioning?” 

Madam Hooch grinned. “Nothing terribly outlandish -- sprints, pushups, pullups…”

There was a collective groan. 

“It will be good for you. All of you will see a difference by the end of the season, mark my words. That being said, I also expect all of you to eat well -- this means including fruit and vegetables in your diet.

“Now, I have several other key notes. Team Hogwarts has generously been furnished with Nimbus 2001s, which will be arriving by the end of the week. There will be uniform fittings this weekend. Miss Johnson?”

“What will the uniforms look like?”

“Black, with gold piping.”  

“Hufflepuff colors!?”

“No, Mr. Davies,  _ Hogwarts _ colors.”

“But --”

“Do you have a problem with the uniforms?”

“No, no, not at all.” 

“Just as I thought. There will also be practice uniforms -- white trousers with black shirts with the Hogwarts crest on the back. Next week reporters from the  _ Daily Prophet _ will be here to conduct interviews with the primary team and photograph practice as well as head shots. I will communicate the details when I receive them from the reporters. Are there any questions? None? Excellent. We will start practice today with two clockwise laps of the Pitch and two counterclockwise laps, followed by an agility course…”

* * *

 

_ Quidditch Pitch _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 26 September 1992 _

__

**_TWEET!_ **

“Johnson! Davies! If you aren’t going to pass to Flint, you aren’t going to play!” Hooch bellowed. 

“We are!”

“No, you’re not. Flint was wide open, and you still passed to Johnson instead of him.”

“I didn’t see Flint!” Davies protested. 

“Bullshite.” 

“Coach --” 

“You’ll play with Flint, Davies, or you won’t play at all. Am I clear?”

“But the cobbing --”

“I’ve already spoken to Flint about that. Your job is not to coach, but to play. Am I clear on that?”

“Yes,” Davies bit out. 

“Excellent. Let’s run through that series again.”  _ Tweet! _

The Chasers moved through the drill again, and Harry exchanged a skeptical look with Cedric. Ever since the team had started practicing together, all the Chasers had done was fight. Johnson and Davies had gotten along once Davies got over his stupid superiority complex, but neither would cooperate with Flint. Allegedly, that was because Flint had no qualms about checking the other players in midair, but Harry had a feeling it was more because Flint was a Slytherin whereas the other two were Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. 

But, even that didn’t seem to be the problem. The reserve Chasers were working well together despite having the same House composition; Spinnet was from Gryffindor, Moran was from Ravenclaw, and Pucey was from Slytherin. None of it made sense -- Flint was a fantastic Quidditch player, and Harry had absolutely no idea why Johnson and Davies couldn’t get over themselves. 

“Oi! Potter!” 

Harry’s head whipped around to where Diggory was staring at him impatiently. “What?”

“Are we going to finish the drill sequence or not?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I got distracted by the Chasers.” 

“S’all fine. Just make sure it doesn’t happen in a game!”

“Of course not!”

“You ready?”

Harry adjusted his grip on the broom. The weighted balls they were using to practice

diving fell a lot faster than the pink charmed ones Flint used at Slytherin House practices, and it took some serious flying to catch them, even on the Nimbus 2001. “I’m ready.”

“Three...two...one!” 

Diggory released the ball, and Harry’s eyes immediately locked in on it, tracking it downwards. In a fraction of a second, Harry angled his broom downwards. Wind rushed through his hair as he plastered himself against the handle. He was following, following, following, reaching, reaching, reaching... 

**_Click! Flash!_ **

His hand wrapped around the spongy surface of the practice ball as black spots danced before his eyes. There was a short pudgy man standing a couple of  meters away holding what appeared to be a large camera. Blinking curiously, Harry hovered in place just as Hooch dove past him, braking to a rapid halt before the fat photographer. 

“Bozo!” Hooch barked. “What did you not understand about not using flash photography around my athletes?” 

The wizard looked taken aback. “I --”

“I was  _ quite _ clear that you could only use it at very specific designated circumstances. Firstly, and most importantly, it’s dangerous for the students. Secondly, we’re using training tactics I’ve personally designed and ones I used during my time on Puddlemere. I don’t want word of it getting out to the other schools, especially not those Russians who seem to get their grubby fingers on everything. Am I clear?”

The photographer blanched. “Yes.”

“Excellent. And if you could be so kind as to apologize to Mr. Potter?” 

The remaining color drained out of the man’s face. “Mr. Potter?  _ Harry _ Potter?”

“The one and the same,” Hooch said blandly. 

“I...apologize Mr. Potter.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said awkwardly. The spots had almost dissipated now. 

“I’ll call the rest of my team down now,” Hooch began, “I suppose you’ll want to get action shots before they change into their uniforms for headshots and interviews.”

Relief blossomed across Bozo’s face. “Yes, that would be good.”

**_Tweet!_ **

“Team, in!” Hooch shouted. 

Several seconds passed as the remainder of the team flew over. 

“Team, meet Hector Bozo and Ralph Whizzle. Mr. Bozo is a photographer with the  _ Daily Prophet _ and Mr. Whizzle is one of the  _ Prophet _ ’s Quidditch correspondents. They will be focusing on the media coverage of Team Hogwarts for the International Scholastic Quidditch Tournament. Mr. Whizzle?”

The lanky wizard stepped forward. “Hello, kids. It’s great to meet you all. You can all call me Ralph, and I was a former Chaser for the Falmouth Falcons, so if any of you are thinking of going professional after Hogwarts, feel free to talk to me at the end of the day. We’re going to start things off with some action shots of all of you, then we’ll start doing interviews and have you change into your game day uniforms. We’ll be doing headshots of the primary team, a group shot of the primary team, and a group shot of the reserves. Does that sound good?”

Everyone nodded. 

“Excellent. I’d like to get Mr. Flint, Miss Johnson, Mr. Davies, and Mr. Wood in the air to

start off…” 

Whizzle proceeded to direct the players in various photos while Bozo rapidly clicked away. The Pitch was full of organized chaos as the Chasers lobbed the Quaffle towards the hoops and the Weasley twins attempted to hit Bludgers in unison. Harry dove for Snitch after Snitch with Diggory chasing him down. Much to his delight, he managed to catch most of them. 

“Alright, that’s a wrap for those!” Whizzle shouted. “Everyone, please change into your game day uniforms and meet me and Bozo back on the Pitch.”

Harry flew off towards the locker room, grinning all the while. He, Harry, was getting his first ever newspaper interview, and it wasn’t even about some stupid Boy-Who-Lived stuff. It was for Quidditch -- honest to goodness Quidditch! 

Harry smirked. Lockhart will be floored that he hadn’t had a say in Harry’s first interview.

 


	10. Curious and Curiouser

_ Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom _

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

_ 1 October 1992 _

“And then,” Lockhart said enthusiastically, jabbing his wand under Harry’s jaw, “I held the Wagga Wagga Werewolf like so, placed my wand on his throat -- give a nice, loud howl, Harry --” 

Harry growled half-heartedly, and Hermione cringed. Lockhart’s classes had been noticeably less enthusiastic after the first day. Rumor had it that the Gryffindor class had failed miserably after the pixie challenge and that Lockhart himself had been thrown out the classroom window. Now, they were subjected to ‘live action’ replays of Lockhart’s books, starring Harry and Lockhart, which were decidedly  _ un _ educational.  

“--and I performed the Homorphus Charm, which turned the slavering werewolf back into a man!” Lockhart exclaimed with a flourish. 

Hermione looked sideways at Ron. “Did he say the Homorphus Charm?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Ron replied absently.

“It was so simple, so effective, and now another village will remember me forever as their saviour!” Lockhart finished with a bow. 

Wheels turned in Hermione’s mind. “Ron...I’m pretty sure the Homorphus Charm can only be used on Animagus, not werewolves.” 

“Yeah...actually, I’m pretty sure there’s no cure for lycanthropy,” Ron whispered back.

“Should I say something?” Hermione asked.

“No. There’s something about Lockhart that doesn’t seem right,” Ron replied. “I’ll tell you about it after class.”

Hermione nodded, fixing her attention once again on the front of the classroom as Harry trudged back to his seat. 

“For homework, you all should finish reading the final chapter of  _ Wanderings with Werewolves _ . Tootles!” Lockhart swept through the classroom, and disappeared into his office. 

“Well, that was informative,” Hermione said sarcastically.

“At least you didn’t have to act it out,” Harry grumbled. 

“Thank Merlin for small mercies. I just can’t believe he’s done all this stuff. None of it makes sense.” 

Ron picked up his bookbag. “That’s what I was going to talk to you about. Lockhart  _ says _ he’s done all this stuff, but I don’t think he actually has.”

“No?” Hermione queried, heading towards the door.

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“If you look at it critically…” Ron glanced over his shoulder, “Everything Lockhart’s done has been in remote villages. Do you think anyone’s gone out there to fact check?”

“Probably not...shite, do you think he faked everything?” Hermione asked. 

Ron nodded. “It’s a distinct possibility.”

“How?” Harry wanted to know. 

“Memory Charms.”

“ _ Memory Charms? _ ” Hermione repeated, stopping in her tracks and feeling deeply disturbed. “Wizards have charms that can alter  _ memories _ ?”

“Uh huh.”

“And those are  _ legal _ ?”

Ron shrugged. “Kind of? They’re restricted to Aurors, with some exceptions, and are mainly used to enforce the Statute of Secrecy, so it’s not like people are walking around constantly wiping other people’s memories.” 

“This is the most  _ sick, disturbing  _ thing…”

“It’s fine, Hermione. Plus they have ways of finding out -- the vast majority of wizards can’t cast the spell perfectly, so there’s noticeable traces in the mind.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Me either.”

“It’s really fine. Anyways, Lockhart?”

“There’s definitely something wrong with that man,” Hermione said slowly. “I…”

Something clicked. “I’ve got an idea. I’m going back to my dorm room. I need all my Lockhart books.”

“Why?”

“If he’s lying, he’s got to have messed up somewhere. I’m making a timeline,” Hermione

threw over her shoulder. There was no way Lockhart was going to get away with this. Someway, or another, Hermione would get to the bottom of the situation.

* * *

 

_ Second Year Slytherin Girls’ Dorm Room _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 1 October 1992 _

 

Hermione wrung out her hand tiredly. She hadn’t found anything concrete about Lockhart yet, but she was certain it’d only be a matter of time. Her gut told her there was something incredibly off about him, and her gut had never been wrong...except, for maybe when she’d been convinced that Sprout was going to steal the Stone back in first year, but she’d been young and stupid then. Thirteen-year-old Hermione was far smarter than twelve-year-old Hermione had ever been, and she was determined to prove it by exposing Lockhart for the fraud he obviously was. 

The door slammed open, and Hermione jumped. 

“Hey, Hermione. Sorry to startle you,” Lily said. “Whatcha working on?”

“Just homework,” Hermione lied smoothly, reshuffling her parchment so that the timeline was now on the bottom of the pile. “Where have you been?” 

“You know, just out and around.” 

“I see.”

“My father sent me a letter,” Lily said suddenly. “He told me I need to start taking my

duties as the Moon heir more seriously. In all honesty, I think him and Mum were hoping for another child, but it just didn’t happen. He wants me to memorize all these,” she continued, pulling several large rolls of parchment out of her bookbag, “family trees. They’re of important families on the Continent, and Father says that if I am to truly fulfill my role as heir, I need to be just as familiar with the powerful families in Britain as those outside of it.” 

“Which ones?”

Lily groaned. “A lot of them. He’s sent me just a few to get started with -- Qing, the current ruling family of China; Dolohov, the current ruling family of Russia; du Feu, very wealthy French nobility, and Delacour, another wealthy noble French family.” 

“Could I take a look at some of them?”

Lily flopped on her bed. “Be my guest. I’m working on learning the Qing dynasty, so you can’t look at that one, but you can look at any of the others.” 

“Could I see the Dolohovs?” Hermione asked. Ever since learning about the dangerous and powerful Russian family, Hermione couldn’t help but want to know more. 

“Sure, here you go.” 

Lily tossed her a thick roll of parchment, and Hermione caught it eagerly before unfurling it on her desk. At the top of the tree were Tatiana Evanovich and Evgenii Dolohov, the parents of the first Dolohov tsar, Nikolay Dolohov.  Nikolay Dolohov married Elizabeth Malfoy, and they had three children: Viktoriya, Vladimir and Viktor. Vladimir went on to become the tsar, and married Klara Petrova. He had two children: Sergei, the current tsar, and Antonin. Sergei married Madelaine Delacour, and they’d had one child, Eduard. 

Hermione traced her finger down Viktor’s branch of the family tree. He’d had two daughters, Anita and Anastasiya. Anita was Millicent’s mum, Hermione was happy to note, but Anastasiya’s husband had been blacked off the tree for some reason.

Hermione ran her finger down the tree again. Viktoriya Dolohova had never married, which struck Hermione as incredibly odd considering that she was the older brother of one of the tsars. 

“Lily?”

“What?”

“Do you know why Viktoriya Dolohova never married?”

“Well --”

“Why are you talking about the Dolohovs?” Millicent interrupted. 

Hermione and Lily jumped. 

“Millie, we didn’t hear you come in!”

“Why are you talking about the Dolohovs?” Millicent repeated. 

“My father wishes me to learn more about the most powerful families,” Lily said. “Hermione was curious.”

“Curious about Viktoriya?” 

“Er, yes, I was.”

Millicent’s face darkened. “We do not speak of her.” 

“Why?”

“She was suppose to marry Mikhail Vasiliev.” 

“And?”

“Instead, she fled, and no one has heard from her since.”

“What do you think happened to her?” Hermione asked, feeling she wouldn’t like the answer.

Millicent frowned. “She was probably killed.”

“Killed?”

“Murdered. One doesn’t defy the Russian crown and escape alive.”

* * *

 

_ Great Hall _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 2 October 1992 _

 

Hermione flipped idly through the  _ Daily Prophet _ . There was the typical dramatized headline news, celebrity sightings, and -- the Hogwarts Quidditch team?

A large photograph of the team standing in an inverted v stretched across the page. Harry, of course, was front and center, flanked by Angelina Johnson and Roger Davies, Fred and George Weasley, then Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood. They looked quite fierce, and Hermione had high hopes of them squashing the competition. The rest of the page was covered with photos of the various team members whizzing around on brooms and, of course, interviews. 

 

_ HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH TEAM: SET TO TAKE ON ROUND ONE _

_ by Ralph Whizzle _

 

_ The tension in surrounding the International Scholastic Quidditch tournament continues to mount as schools finalize their rosters. This week we present exclusive interviews with Team Hogwarts and their coach, Rolanda Hooch. Hooch is a former Chaser for Puddlemere United, and has ten years of teaching experience at Hogwarts.  _

_ “We have a strong culture of Quidditch here at Hogwarts,” Hooch told the  _ Daily Prophet _. “Between the House teams and spontaneous pick up games, students are able to hone their skills on a daily basis. Team Hogwarts is a combination of the best players from each House, and I believe that, together, they will become unstoppable.”  _

_ The team is comprised of sixth years Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood, fifth years Roger Davies, Angelina Johnson, Fred Weasley, and George Weasley, and second year Harry Potter.  While the age gap might be a concern for some players, Potter isn’t concerned. “I played on the Slytherin House team last year,” Potter explained. “I’m use to playing against people who are older and more experienced than me, so this won’t be anything new. Besides, I have [Cedric] Diggory to push me further in training, which will be very useful when playing against older Seekers.”  _

_ Diggory (pictured right) is one of the reserve players along with Aedan Moran, Aoife Moran, Adrian Pucey, Alicia Spinnet, Atticus Warrington, and Cassius Warrington. Having a full reserve team, as well as even more players waiting in the wings, was one of Hooch’s many ideas.  _

_ “Having a full reserve team encourages the primary team to work and train harder,” Hooch stated. “It makes them remember that their spot on the primary team isn’t guaranteed. It also allows us to conduct more drills and scrimmage, which gives our practices greater flexibility.” _

_ Hooch’s strategy is a valid one, and one we can only hope will payoff in Hogwarts’ round one game versus Uagadou.  _

_ “I’m not too nervous about the match,” Wood told the  _ Daily Prophet _ , “I’m more excited. We’ve been training really hard, and the team is really started to gel together. I’m proud of how far we’ve come, and I’m eager to see how much stronger we can become as a team.” _

_ Davies echoed Wood’s sentiments. “It was a big change to start working together instead of playing against each other, especially for the Chasers since we all come from different Houses and have different playing styles. There were a couple of blocks in the road, but we’ve moved passed them. I’m excited to show the other team what we can do.” _

_ “I’ve learned a lot about myself and about Quidditch in the short weeks we’ve practiced together,” Johnson said. “On the Gryffindor team, I’m used to play with Katie [Bell] and Alicia [Spinnet] but I’ve learned to work with Davies and Flint. It’s definitely been an eye opening experience.”  _

_ When asked about their chances of winning the entire tournament, the response was overwhelming positive.  _

_ “We’ve got a great team,” Flint stated. “A lot of the players who use to annoy me on the Pitch are now part of my team.” _

_ “They’re in for a surprise,” said Fred Weasley.  _

_ George Weasley followed up on his brother’s statement; “They’ll never know what hit them.”  _

_ The round one match will be take place at Hogwarts on 15 November. To purchase tickets, please send an owl to the Department of Magical Games and Sports.  _

 

“Hey, Harry!” Hermione called across the table.

“What?”

“There’s a Quidditch article in the paper, and it’s about the Hogwarts team!”

A mad scramble ensued at the table as people made grabs for the nearest copy of the  _ Prophet _ . Hermione reluctantly handed her copy over to Harry and Ron, who immediately dove in. Several minutes later, they emerged. 

“Did you see that photo of me, Hermione?” Harry asked eagerly. “The one where I catch the practice Snitch?”

Hermione smiled placatingly. “Yes, of course, it was very good.”

Harry grinned. “See, Ron, I told you so.”

“I was being sarcastic!” Ron protested. 

Harry smiled smugly. “I know.” 

“Pretty good article, huh?” Hermione asked.

“I thought so,” Ron chimed in. “Much better than that Skeeter trash you see splattered across the front page.”

“Skeeter?”

“Former gossip columnist,” Hermione quickly supplied. “Apparently now a headline worthy news writer.”

“Blech. I hope I never have to talk to her.” 

Hermione grimaced. “I feel the same way.”

 


	11. The Chamber

# 

_ Secret Library of Salazar Slytherin _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 10 October 1992 _

“So, why did you want to come down here again?” Hermione asked. 

Ron scanned the room again. “Various reasons.” 

“Such as?” 

Ron double checked that Harry was happily ensconced in the far corner of the library before turning to her dramatically,. “Promise you can’t tell Harry? If he finds out, he’ll go ballistic muggle Auror on us.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Sure.” 

“Okay. I can’t help but feel like there’s more.”  

“More?”

“Yeah. Like that staircase we found but never went up.  Look, even in the time of Salazar Slytherin, the castle was covered in Anti-Apparition wards. Nobody could Apparate in, but more importantly, no one could Apparate out. There’s no way Slytherin would create a secret hideout with only one way in and out.”

Hermione stared off into the distance, and Ron could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. “Okay. That makes sense. And….oh.  _ Oh _ .” She fixed Ron with an intense stare, “Ron, do you believe in legends?”

“Legends?” Ron wracked his brain for any sort of legend pertaining to Hogwarts. “Sure, I believe in some legends, you know, like the adventures of Merlin, but there’s some that are completely fake. Which are you think --” something clicked in Ron’s mind. “ _ Shite _ . The Chamber of Secrets.”

Hermione nodded grimly. “The one and only. You got me thinking about it when you mentioned a secret hideout -- it’s got to be pretty hard to build one, let alone two. It’d only make sense that they are connected somehow.” 

“That makes sense for the multiple entry and exit points, too,” Ron said, brain whirling. “If we’re going off of that idea, then the entrance to the Chamber must be in the meeting room. Either that, or the meeting room’s got some sort of secret entrance or exit, which could very well be the staircase, but could also be something else.” 

“Hmm. I tried researching the stairwell in the library as well as this entire place, but I haven’t been able to find anything.”

Ron frowned. “Same. I hate the idea of going in blind, but it looks like that’s what we’ll have to do. The staircase seems like the best place to start -- we should probably get Harry, though, just in case there’s some Parseltongue password.”

“I thought you didn’t want Harry to be involved.”

“No, no,” Ron said hastily. “I do. Just not when he gets all impulsive and goes full on muggle Auror.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Oi, Harry!”

“What?” 

“Me and Hermione are going to explore the stairwell. You want to come along?”

“What do you think? Of course I do!”

Harry hurried over, and together they made their way into the meeting room. 

“Okay,” Hermione began somewhat bossily. “We need to be very careful when going up the staircase. We have no idea what’s up there and we don’t want to be surprised.”

“We know, Hermione,” Ron and Harry chorused.  

“I was just double checking! It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Ron sighed. “That’s true. C’mon, let’s go.”

Harry pressed the hidden door open, and they stared up into the gloom. The staircase was

just how Ron remembered it -- oddly smooth, and leaving him with an unsettled feeling in his stomach. 

“ _ Lumos! _ ” 

“ _ Lumos! _ ” Ron shone his wand light up the stairwell, his view of the top obstructed by the spiral structure. 

“ _ Lumos! _ Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” 

“Let’s go.” 

They slowly made their way up the staircase, Ron noting all the while the serpentine designs etched into the otherwise flawlessly smooth stone. After what seemed like ages, they reached a small landing. 

“I suppose this is the top,” Hermione commented needlessly. 

“I guess so. Now, where’s the door out?”

“Dunno. Not really a lot of space here, so that narrows down our options.” 

A hissing sound filled the gloom, and Ron could feel his arms prickle as goosebumps rose. Stone grated on stone, and greenish light filled the stairwell. 

“That was you, right, Harry?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“Yeah. Password was ‘open’ again -- either Salazar was over confident that nobody would find this place or he wanted any Parseltongue to be able to easily access it.” Harry strode through the newly created doorway, then stopped suddenly. “Woah…”

“What?”

“Come and see…” 

Ron and Hermione crowded around the door. Ron’s jaw dropped. Before them was a long room with a vaulted ceiling. Four large serpent statues flanked each side of the chamber, and a large ornate door stood at the far end. 

“So this is the Chamber…” Ron mused. 

“Look up,” Hermione whispered, having edged further out the door. “Stand where I am.” 

Ron did, and craned his neck. “Sweet Merlin…” They’d just exited from the foot of a giant statue. Long flowing stone robes reached up into the gloom, and Ron was just able to make out a face. “Is that…”

“Salazar Slytherin? I think so.” 

“Well, shite.”

“Don’t swear, Ronald.” 

“Well, we can confirm that we found the Chamber of Secrets,” Ron said. “Only...wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of monster inside?”

Hermione frowned. “Yeah...Harry, what do you think of that?”

There was no response. 

“Harry?”

Ron whirled around. Their black haired friend was nowhere to be seen. “Well, shite,” Ron said again. 

“Shite indeed,” Hermione said, brow furrowing. “Where did he go?”

“Hopefully not into the belly of the monster as a midday snack,” Ron said grimly. 

“Don’t joke about it!”

“I’m serious.” 

“Let’s just pretend for a moment that isn't within the realm of possibilities. We have to go look for him.”

Heart racing, Ron moved away from the door, rapidly scanning the Chamber for any sign of Harry. The serpent statues casted odd shadows, and the dim lighting certainly wasn’t helping. Ron peered nervously into the gloom as nerves clenched in his stomach. When he’d suggested that Slytherin’s monster had eaten Harry, he’d been half joking. Now, he wasn’t so sure. 

“Harry?” 

His voice echoed through the Chamber. Ron strained his ears, hoping to hear a response. 

There was none. 

“Hermione, do you see him anywhere?” Ron asked anxiously. 

“No sign of him. He didn’t go back through the door, did he?”

“No...he was in front of us...and, uh, Hermione?”

“What?”

“The door is gone.”

Hermione swore. 

“Language!”

“Shut up, Ron. We have a bigger problem on our hands. We’ve lost Harry, we’re stuck in a Chamber,  _ and _ we’ll be late for Snape’s defense lesson if we don’t find our way out of here within the hour.” 

“Yeah, I think I’m going to prioritize finding Harry over Snape’s lesson, if you don’t mind,” Ron said testily.

“I wasn’t saying that --”

“Do you guys hear that?”

Ron and Hermione jumped. 

“Harry! Where were you?” Hermione demanded. “We thought you got eaten or something.” 

“I was...around. I made a friend, too, but she’s stuck,” Harry said, staring off into the distance. 

Ron shot Hermione a warning look. This ‘friend’ of Harry’s could prove to be not so friendly...or good. 

“What sort of friend?” Ron asked, attempting to keep a level tone. 

“One inside the statue,” said Harry, pointing vaguely towards the giant figure of Slytherin. 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Inside the statue?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, head cocked slightly to the side. “Her name is Tilly, and she’s hungry.”

“Uh, Harry, are you sure this ‘Tilly’ is real?” 

“Of course! She’s talking to me right now.” 

Hermione caught Ron’s eye as Harry wandered closer to the statue. “You don’t hear anything, do you?”

“No.”

“Okay. So something weird is going on.”

“I’d say so. Wait. Is Harry talking?”

“Looks like it.”

Ron walked closer. “Hermione, I don’t think he’s talking. He’s  _ hissing _ .”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Hissing. Okay. So he’s talking to a snake. That’s perfectly plausible. We’re in Slytherin’s secret chamber, so there’s bound to be snakes around.” 

“Yeah, but a snake inside a statue?”

“Could be just a normal, happy sort of snake,” Hermione said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

“Or it could be a terrible murderous snake that thinks we’d all be a tasty snack,” Ron disagreed amicably. “Did you ever find out what Slytherin’s monster was?”

“No, the book didn’t say. You don’t think this snake is the monster, do you?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“What types of dangerous snakes are there?”

Ron thought for a moment, then shivered as cold trickled down his spine. “Only one bad enough to be Slytherin’s monster,” he said slowly, “the King of Serpents, otherwise known as a basilisk.” 

“Bloody fantastic,” Hermione muttered. “And what is it, super big and super poisonous?”  
“That and worse. It can kill you with it’s gaze.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. “Like Medusa”

“Like what?”

“...nevermind.”

Ron considered this for a moment, shrugged, then refocused on the topic at hand.“What do we say to Harry?”

“That his new pal is a dangerous serpent? I don’t know!”

“Let’s go over there until he does something,” Hermione said darkly. “He’s usually pretty level-headed, but better safe than sorry.” 

They strode over.

“Tilly says she’s been cooped up inside the statue for a while,” Harry said conversationally.

“Harry…” Ron began slowly, “do you know what Tilly is?”  
“Yeah. She’s a basilisk.”

“I’m guessing you have no idea what a basilisk is.”

“Not really. It’s a snake of some sort, and a pretty big one I think.”

Hermione rolled her eyes impatiently. “Harry, a basilisk is a big, giant man-eating super-poisonous snake with a death glare.”

Harry whirled around, focusing fully on them for the first time. “Wait, what?”

“A basilisk is a big, giant man-eating super-poisonous snake with a death glare,” Hermione said slowly.

Harry hissed. Silence filled the air. “Tilly says she only ever killed someone once, and it was totally by accident. She says she promises not to eat us if I let her out.”

“About letting out a giant doom snake… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“She’s not going to hurt anyone…and I feel bad for her. She’s been cooped up for ages!”

“Maybe another time…” Ron began.

Harry wasn’t listening. “What’s the Heir of Slytherin?” he asked absently.

“Exactly what is sounds like.”

“Tilly just called me that.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but there isn’t any Slytherin blood in your genetics,” Ron said. “The last living descendants are the Gaunt family, and  _ trust  _ me, you aren’t related to them.”

“But --”

“Oh, look at the time,” Hermione interrupted. “It’s almost time for defense class with Professor Snape. We’d better get going.”

“I --”

“We’ll come back another time, Harry,” Ron quickly reassured him.

Harry sighed before hissing several staccato tones. 

Ron looked sideways at Hermione. “That’s never going to stop being weird.

* * *

 

_ Dungeon Three _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 10 October 1992 _

“...Umbridge...Warrington...Weasley...Zabini. Today,” Professor Snape began, “we will deviate from our lesson plan. The  _ esteemed _ Professor Lockhart in his infinite wisdom has decided that a Dueling class taught by a highly skilled instructor is not sufficient for Hogwarts students. Therefore, he has decided to start a Dueling Club, and has decided that I would be an appropriate individual to assist him. Professor Runcorn, our actual Dueling professor, is not pleased.”

There were several snickers. 

“Fortunately, I am not a fool. Professor Runcorn will be guest-lecturing this class today.

You will learn the basic principles of dueling as well as ways you can use spells already in your repertoire to incapacitate an opponent. Before we begin, I will take the opportunity to remind you that dueling is forbidden at Hogwarts unless it is sanctioned by a professor. Is everyone clear on that?”

“Yes, Professor,” the class chorused. 

“See that you are. If you have a convenient lapse in memory, there are always cauldrons that need cleaning.”

Professor Snape strode towards the door as the gathered first and second years watched nervously. He opened the door.

“Professor Runcorn?” 

The tall, thin professor walked through the door. He had narrow, almost hawkish features, and Ron vaguely remembered seeing him in the Great Hall on one occasion or another. 

“Good afternoon, class,” Professor Runcorn began. “As I believe Professor Snape already told you, I am Professor Runcorn, and I teach Dueling and also co-instruct Ghoul Studies with Professor Scamander. Both of these classes are sixth and seventh year electives. Naturally, being first and second years you will not have the same casting ability as the sixth and seventh years. That being said, today we will learn a bit about the history of dueling, how to begin a duel, and some of the spells you can use that you already know. For those who are ready -- primarily second years -- we will begin shielding and disarming charms. For those who are not quite ready yet, we’ll learn some useful jinxes. Does that sound good to you lot?”

The class nodded fervently, and Ron grinned. While he didn’t know the shield charm or the disarming charm, he did know a handful of less than pleasant jinxes, courtesy of Fred and George. With any luck, he’d get to use them on Malfoy. 

“Modern dueling is a recognized sport by the International Confederation of Wizards. It involves rigorous training, a speedy mind, and fast reflexes. Tournaments are held yearly at both national and international levels, and both myself and Professor Flitwick have had several wins at the latter. While that is very exciting, we must first dive back into the past to understand where dueling originated from. Back in the days of the Founders, dueling was one of the ways to honorably settle a dispute. As you all should know from your history class, before the time of Hogwarts, Britain was fractured into many smaller kingdoms, each ruled by its own king or queen. Under each sovereign were various lords, and when these lords were at odds with each other, they would call an honor duel.

“This is where we derive modern dueling procedure. At the start of a duel, you must bow to your opponent before turning your back on them and walking five paces back towards the opposite side of the platform. You turn to face your opponent. The arbiter will count to three, and then the duel will begin. Does anyone have any questions? Yes, boy in the back with the cropped hair. What is your name?”

“Atlas Carrow,” the boy said snottily. “Why do you have to bow?”

“An interesting question. We always bow before commencing a duel to show that we respect our opponent and will fight them fairly.” 

“But what if we don’t respect them?” Malfoy asked. 

Professor Runcorn frowned. “Yes, Mister...?”  
“Malfoy,” Malfoy supplied, nose pointed upwards. 

“One always must have some form of respect for their opponent,” Professor Runcorn said seriously. “Not respecting your opponent, and thereby underestimating him or her is the fastest way to lose a duel. Are there any other questions? No? Excellent. Now, everyone stand up, and find yourself some space. The first step in performing a proper dueling bow is to draw your wand with your wand hand, and hold it vertically in front of your chest. Do it with me, please.”

A whooshing sound filled the room as wands were drawn from pockets and sleeves. 

“Next, bring your wand down by your side and hold it away from your body like so. Now, bow, just like this.”

The class bowed. 

“Good work, now do it again, without me.”

They repeated the motion several times until Professor Runcorn was satisfied they could all do it perfectly. 

“Alright, divide into pairs now, and you’ll practice the bow, the turn, and the steps back with your partner.”

Ron immediately teamed up with Harry while Hermione paired up with Lily. Millie, unfortunately, was stuck working with Tracey Davis. 

Professor Runcorn neatly banished the desks to the walls. “Spread out, everyone. Now, walk towards your partner…”

Ron walked towards Harry, his best serious face pasted on. He quirked an eyebrow, and Harry snickered. 

“...bow, turn, and walk...”

Ron brandished his wand, held it vertically in front of him, then swiped it by his side. He bowed, then spun on his heel to walk back five paces. 

“Excellent work, everyone, continue to practice with your partner, and Professor Snape and I will correct you.” 

They continued to bow, turn and walk. Ron was starting to get quite bored by the time Professor Runcorn told them to stop. 

“Circle up, please. Now, I want you all to take a moment to think of the spells you already know and if you could use them in a duel. When you think of something, just shout it out.”

“Smokescreen spell,” said Hermione.

“Lumos!” shouted one of the first years.

“Jelly-legs jinx,” said Ron. 

“Tickling charm!”

“Knockback jinx!”

“Dancing feet charm!” 

“Freezing charm!”

“Disarming charm!” 

“Good, good,” Professor Runcorn interrupted. “As you can see, you already know several spells that can be useful in a duel. We’re going to divide up into two groups to practice -- Professor Snape?”

“Bulstrode, Granger, Malfoy, Moon, Nott, Potter, Weasley, Zabini, you will be with me, learning the disarming and shielding charms,” Professor Snape said. “The rest of you will be working on the charms you already know with Professor Runcorn.” 

The second years who had not been selected to learn the new charms grumbled, then moved off to work with Professor Runcorn. 

“The Disarming Charm,” Professor Snape began, “is one of the more useful spells in a dueler’s repertoire. It is also one of the most anticipated charms. Most novice duelers will make the error of firing Disarming Charm after Disarming Charm at their opponent in hopes that it will break through their shield. This is a mistake. Such behaviour will make you a predictable dueler, and you will lose. A skilled dueler will use a Disarming Charm at an unexpected time and to great success. 

“The incantation for the Disarming Charm is  _ Expelliarmus _ , and the motion is half a clockwise circle, starting from the bottom, followed by a sharp jab towards your target. All of you do the motion slowly, now, with me. A half-circle, then a jab. Miss Bulstrode, hold your wand less tightly. It will make your motions more fluid. Keep practicing the motion -- Mr. Zabini, close your fingers, or your wand will fall out of your hand. 

“Wands down. Now, repeat after me:  _ Expelliarmus! _ ”

“ _ Expelliarmus! _ ” 

Professor Snape watched them critically. “That is acceptable for now. Now, for the wand motion, you should be completing the jab just as you say the ‘ _ armus _ ’ portion of the charm. Partner up.”

Ron and Harry partnered up again. 

“Practice disarming your partner. Each partner should take three tries, then switch.”

“ _ Expelliarmus!” _ Ron shouted.

Harry’s wand wobbled in his hand.

“More force behind your wand motion, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron took a deep breath. “ _ Expelliarmus! _ ” he shouted, jabbing his wand forcefully towards Harry. To his surprise and delight, Harry’s wand flew out of his hand. 

“Yes!”

“Nice,” Harry said. “Let’s see if you can do it again.”

Ron did, and was successful once more. “Okay, your turn now.”

It ended up taking Harry three tries to get the spell right. Hermione, of course, had gotten it right the first time. 

“Stop casting, and circle up again,” Professor Snape said over the din. “We are going to learn the Shield Charm next. I hardly expect any of you to be able to cast it, as the spell is typically taught in fourth year. You may be wondering why I am even bothering to teach you the Shield Charm given the high chance of failure. There is a valid reason here -- studies have shown that students who have higher proficiency in Charms and Transfiguration tend to have a higher aptitude for learning defensive spells. We will put that theory to practice today, as the eight of you have high grades in Charms, Transfiguration, or both. Does anyone have any questions? No? The incantation for the Shield Charm is  _ Protego _ . Repeat after me:  _ Protego _ .”

“ _ Protego _ .” 

“The Shield Charm is one of the many charms that require more than a simple wand motion,” Professor Snape continued. “It also requires intent -- in order for this charm to work properly, you must concentrate on protecting yourself and blocking your opponent. The wand motion is a full clockwise circle, starting at the bottom, and if you cast it properly, this will be your result:  _ Protego! _ ” 

Seemingly nothing happened. 

“Mr. Weasley, cast a Disarming Charm at me.”

Ron steadied his wand arm. “ _ Expelliarmus! _ ”

Professor Snape’s wand remained in his hand, and a small light flared where Ron’s spell had struck the otherwise invisible shield. 

“As you can see, Mr. Weasley was unable to disarm me due to the Shield Charm. Since the Charm is fairly complicated, and not typically taught until the fourth year, many of you may not be able to cast one. Pair off again, with different partners.”

Ron reluctantly paired with Blaise while Harry paired with Theo. Lily and Millie were working together, while Hermione was stuck with Malfoy. 

“One partner will cast the Shield Charm while the other will work to disarm their opponent by using the Disarming Charm.”

“How will we know if our Shield Charm worked?” Theo asked.

Professor Snape smirked. “If you do not get disarmed, it worked. Either that or your partner did not cast well.” 

Ron gulped. Blaise was one of the better students in their year, and who knew what his mum had been teaching him. 

“Ready, Ron?”

“Sure.  _ Protego! _ ”

“ _ Expelliarmus! _ ” 

Ron’s wand flew out of his hand. 

“Your wand motion looked fine to me,” Blaise said helpfully. “Intent could be the issue -- maybe think about your brothers trying to throw something at you and wanting to block it?”

“Hmm, yeah, okay,” Ron said, trying to picture Fred and George lobbing a dungbomb at him.

“...mudblood.”

Ron jolted out of his mental picture. Malfoy was staring nastily at Hermione.

“What did you just call me?” she asked angrily.

“A mudblood,” Malfoy said, dusting imaginary lint off his shoulders. “Someone who is magically inferior, you know.” 

Hermione’s eyes hardened, and her mouth twisted. “I’ll show you ‘magically inferior’.  _ Protego! _ ”

“ _ Expelliarmus! _ ” Malfoy shouted. 

Nothing happened.

“You --”

“ _ Expelliarmus! _ ” Hermione yelled, jabbing her wand aggressively towards Malfoy. 

The blonde wizard’s wand was all but ripped from his hand as he staggered back several paces. 

Malfoy’s jaw dropped open. “You little --”

“Stop.” Professor Snape practically materialized at Malfoy’s shoulder.

“I --” he began.

“Detention, Mr. Malfoy.”

“What?” Malfoy spluttered.

“I will not tolerate such slurs in my classroom, Mr. Malfoy. I imagine your father would not appreciate such language out in public, either.”

Malfoy gulped, then paled. 

“How many of you saw Miss Granger disarm Mr. Malfoy?” Professor Snape asked.

Nearly all the gathered second years raised their hands.

“What Miss Granger did was a good demonstration of quick reactions and intent. Mr. Malfoy was not expecting to be disarmed, and Miss Granger  _ really _ wished to disarm him -- hence his stagger several paces backwards. A powerful wizard or witch could, theoretically, overpower a Disarming Charm enough to send his or her opponent flying into a wall. None of you will be able to do that anytime soon, but it is a skill a select few of you may look forward to in the future. 

“On that note, class is dismissed for today. Miss Granger, a word.”

Ron and Harry headed out the door, each casting nervous glances at Hermione.

“D’you think she’s okay?” Harry asked worriedly.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Ron replied. “She’s Hermione. Plus, did you see what she did to Malfoy? That was wicked!”

“I know, right!?” Harry exclaimed. “I can’t wait for Lockhart to start up this dueling club thing. I want a go at Malfoy -- and I’m sure I can beat him!”

Ron nodded wholeheartedly. “I’m sure anyone could. He’s not too bright, really. The chances of him doing anything innovative are pretty low, if you ask me.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, and that’s why I’ll definitely beat him!”


	12. Fumes

# 

_ Private Quarters of Sybill Trelawney _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 2 November 1992 _

 

The mix of burnt herbs and scented candles lent a heady smell to the tiny room atop the North Tower. Aurora Sinistra sipped her oolong tea, cringing slightly at the earthy taste as Sybill paced barefoot across the stone floor, pausing occasionally to take a pull off her flask of sherry.

“The Fates are strong tonight,” Sybill mused. “The stars call to me, and the smoke with its ashy fingers of doom. Pluto rises, aided by the treacherous Rahu. He is more careful this time than last, and Venus must join forces with Uranus if they are to defeat him once and for all.”

“What of Mars and Mercury?” Aurora asked. 

Sybill took another swig of sherry. “They grow more important as time passes on. Jupiter does as well -- he must overcome his weaknesses to embrace his true destiny.” 

Aurora swallowed. “And what is his destiny?”

“Death, dark, and destruction. And blood. Lots of blood.” 

“Is there no way of avoiding it?”

Sybill shrugged. “The future is not set in stone until it happens, and even sometime after that it may change. The signs are not always clear, and everything is uncertain.”

Aurora released a breath. “Is there any way to make it clearer?”

“I can read the bones.”

“Please.”

Sybill wandered across the small room and picked up a small velvet bag from the shelf. From within, she drew a set of four sheep knuckles with worn runes inscribed in each side. “These belonged to my great-grandmother, and her grandmother before that,” Sybill murmured, stroking the bones reverently. “They’re so full of old magic, they’re practically humming with it. My blood is  _ singing _ …” Sybill cupped the bones, then blew lightly across them before scattering them across her ebony table. 

“Dagaz, Othala, Isa, and Sowilo,” Sybill began. “Day, Ancestral Property, Ice, and Sun. An interesting combination for a complicated individual. Dagaz is a realization or an awareness. Something has changed, and recently. The orientation of the bones suggest that Othala is directly related to Dagaz, meaning that the realization has led to the acquisition of property of some sort or the discovery of one’s spiritual heritage. Based on what I’ve gleaned from the  _ Prophet _ , this much is clear: the old Lord will pass, and soon. Jupiter will come into his inheritance at an unexpected moment and, if I am interpreting this correctly, he will resent it.”

Aurora grimaced. This much made sense, and it was deeply concerning.

“Isa tells of a road fraught with challenges and frustrations, but Sowilo suggests power

and victory at the end. There will be suffering, yes, darkness and danger, yes, but at the end of it all, victory. Or, at least victory from Jupiter’s perspective. 

“That’s good, I suppose,” Aurora hedged. 

“Depending on what side of the line he falls on,” Sybill replied. “There will be a point when the world hangs in balance and Jupiter will have the choice between falling to Venus or succumbing to Pluto and his legions.”

“It’s that black and white?”

“No, of course not. Everything is far more nuanced. Surely you know that?” 

“I do.”

“Your cup?”

Aurora wordlessly handed her tea cup over. Sybill always insisted on reading it, and the results were almost always the same. 

 “The cross. You have trials and suffering in your future.” Sybill rotated the cup. “One branch leads to the sun, great happiness, the other to the skull, great danger. My heart tells me you will tend towards the skull, and not the sun.” Sybill rotated the cup again. “You continue to ignore my advice, don’t you?” Sybill asked softly.

Aurora said nothing.

“You continue to consort with Jupiter, at great personal risk. You have the Grim in your cup.” 

Aurora shrugged. “What else is new? It’s been there for the last ten years, ever since I started on this path. And I am still alive.”  

“For how long? Your family is not blessed with good luck, it seems.”

“Sybill --”

“Your oldest sister, Celeste, murdered along with her husband and children during the Dark Uprising. Your brother Castor, still alive to my knowledge, but disowned for joining the Death Eaters and responsible for the death of your second oldest brother, Magnus.”

“Stop --”

Sybill continued. “Your sister Phoebe, married to minor Russian nobility, and later

poisoned, and lastly, your brother Rigel, mistaken for Castor and killed on sight by Aurors during the Dark Uprising. Where there were once six there are now two. What makes you think you can escape Fate? She has her eyes set upon your family.”

“I’m careful,” Aurora said bluntly. “Very careful.”

“So were Celeste and her husband. Careful doesn’t stop you from getting killed, especially in your case.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know of your aspirations, Aurora. I know of your family tree.”

“I --”

“If Kingsley Shacklebolt dies without an heir, you stand to inherit both the Shacklebolt

and Shafiq seats.”

Aurora froze. “Word of this cannot leave this tower.”

“It won’t -- at least not by my lips.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing.” Sybill gazed off, eyes becoming misty. “You’d best be off, Aurora.” 

Beaded braids clinking softly, Aurora gathered her cloak and stalked off. What did the Seer know, anyway?

_ Student Activity Room _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 7 November 1992 _

 

Ron walked nervously into the Student Activity Room. He’d never had a reason to go in there before -- the space was mainly used by N.E.W.T. students collaborating on projects, or by the Gobstones Club. He’d been invited to join the Slytherin Chess Society at the end of September, but hadn’t been able to come to a meeting until now due to several ‘bureaucratic matters’. Apparently several of the older Slytherins weren’t thrilled with a second year joining their chess club, even if it was a second year who’d won the youth chess tournament four years in a row. 

“Oi, Ron, over here!” Barclay called, waving a lanky arm. He was sitting at a large round table with Palin Patil and Flora Carrow, who Ron knew, and two other people who he assumed were Julius Fudge and Margaret Montague. “Ron, meet the rest of the Slytherin Chess Society,” Barclay said grandly. “I believe you’ve already met Palin and Flora. Meet Julius Fudge and Margaret Montague.” 

The brown haired boy and the blonde girl nodded their greetings. 

“Pleasure,” Ron said.

“So, we’ve got a bit of logistics to go over this meeting,” Barclay continued. “We’re about to head into competition season, and we’ve got our first scrimmage with Ravenclaw next Sunday. I’ve tried to convince Diggory over in Hufflepuff and Percy Weasley from Gryffindor to start teams in their Houses, but neither of them really seemed interested. We might try to run a school-wide tournament later in the year, but it’ll probably be mostly us and Ravenclaw. Palin? Any word from Beauxbatons?” 

“I’ve been owling with Raphaёl Malfoy,” Palin started. “Yes, he’s Draco’s cousin, and no, he’s not like Draco.”

There was a collective sigh of relief.

“He hasn’t given me a straight answer yet. I’m pretty sure they’re interested though. I was thinking we could also owl Durmstrang, Ferviditious, and Olympus as well. Durmstrang probably won’t be interested, but the Italians and the Greeks will most likely be amenable.” 

“Excellent, excellent. Anyone else have questions or news?”

“What’s Ravenclaw’s lineup this year?” Julius asked. 

“Mostly the same folks as last year -- let’s see, Terrance Gamp, Vaughn Viridian, Penelope Clearwater, Duncan Inglebee, Aoife Moran, and a new girl, Juliette Stark. Makes it a nice even number between us. Ravenclaw’s new girl is a third year, so Ron should stand a far chance against her.”

Ron frowned slightly. He’d played against Stark in the preliminary rounds of the youth

chess tournament several years back, and he’d beat her then. He wasn’t about to tell Barclay that, though, or he’d look arrogant. 

“Alright, let’s pair off for some practice rounds -- Ron and Flora will play each other, I’ll play Julius, and Palin will play Margaret. Remember, practice with the hourglass timers since we’ll be using them in our matches against Ravenclaw. After you’re done, meet back at this table so we can debrief. Does that sound good?” 

Everyone nodded. 

“Awesome. Good luck, all.” 

The four upperclassmen split off, leaving Ron with Flora. 

“There’s chess boards on the shelf that we can use,” Flora said. “Unless you’ve got your own?”

“I’ve got a board and my chessmen,” Ron replied. 

“Okay. I’ve got that as well. We can play with mine.”

They set up the board, and what followed was one of the most interesting games of chess Ron had ever played. Flora was a good chess player. She was better than Bill, who’d taught Ron how to play, and maybe a little bit better than Percy, who was the only Weasley who could still eek out a victory over Ron.

Ron grinned. This was the first time he’d been pushed -- really pushed -- while playing chess. Facing off against Malfoy didn’t really count. He wasn’t a particularly creative player, and Ron could always anticipate his next moves. On the other hand, Flora would start off on one strategy, then combine it with another, so Ron was always left guessing. It made for a far more interesting game, even if Ron was currently losing. 

Ron studied the board. It’d be incredibly difficult for him to win at this point -- if he wanted to do that, he’d have to take out Flora’s queen, at least one of the rooks, and remaining knight in order to counterbalance the havoc she’d wreaked upon his pieces. Ron thought for a  moment. With some careful planning, he could maybe take out the queen and the rook, but getting the castle and maneuvering into checkmate would be a challenge. 

He mentally shrugged. It was worth a try, and he didn’t really have anything to lose. It’d be nearly impossible for him to win the game, and the least he could do was go out with a bang. 

Grinning, Ron went on the offensive. 

_ Great Hall _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 7 November 1992 _

 

“So, Ron, how was chess club?” Hermione asked.

Ron finished chewing his bite of sandwich. “It was fun. Really fun. We have a scrimmage against Ravenclaw next weekend.

“Round one of the Quidditch Tournament is also next weekend,” Harry piped up. “You’ll be there, right?”

“Of course! Chess is on Sunday, so I’ll be free all day Saturday to watch the match.” 

Harry nodded, then went back to chasing his beans around his plate.

“What’d you do in chess club?” 

“We did a practice match. I lost.”

“You  _ lost _ ?”

“Yeah. I’m not the greatest chess player on the planet, you know. I’m just better than most people.”

“Well, who did you lose to?”

“Flora Carrow. She’s pretty good.”  
“Well, duh. Can’t believe she beat you.”

“She’s not going to beat me again,” Ron said. “I’ve got all these new strategy ideas that I’m going to use. Flora is really good at seamlessly switching strategy, so I’ve got to get better at anticipating her moves and seeing both the big picture and the details.” He took another bite of sandwich. “I’m heading to the library after lunch, actually, to get some more books. It turns out Pince is a bit of a chess fanatic, and she’s actually been really helpful.” 

Hermione’s face lit up at the mention of the library. “Ooh, can I come with?”

“I don’t see why not.”  

Ron finished up his lunch, and they headed out of the Great Hall towards the library. 

“How’s Harry holding up for the upcoming Quidditch match?” Ron asked. “He looked a

little anxious at lunch.”

“He’s a bit nervous, but I think he’ll do fine. I’ve been reading all the  _ Daily Prophet  _ articles about the tournament and researching Uagadou in my spare time. Did you know that they primarily use staffs instead of wands?”

Ron scratched his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, I think I’ve heard that before. Apparently

wands were a relic of the Roman Empire, and that’s why we have them all across Europe and in northern Africa.”

“The book said that staffs are best for spells where you need to channel a lot of power, like a massive Transfiguration, or blowing something up!”

Ron thought Hermione looked a little too happy at the thought of destruction. 

“The book also said that Uagadou teaches a lot of wandless magic -- they use hand gestures or finger pointing for some spells, although they also use wands. It all sounds so interesting!” Hermione enthused. “I wish we taught wandless magic here at Hogwarts!”

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione wasn’t done talking.  

“I’ve been looking into their Quidditch team as well,” Hermione continued. “They don’t have Houses like we do here, so I’m not sure how their school teams work or if they have them. We could always ask Professor Sinistra for more information since she did a semester abroad there since they have a great Astronomy program, but I don’t really think that’s necessary, do you?”

Ron blinked. “No, not really. I’m sure Madam Hooch has done all her research.” 

“Hmm. Yeah, you’re probably right. It’ll be very interesting to see how this all plays out, don’t you think?” 

“Of course!” Ron exclaimed. How could he not be excited by Quidditch?

“It’ll be a very intriguing week,” Hermione said. “Apparently there’s going to be all sorts of important people watching the match -- the Minister of Magic is going to be here, and I’m guessing all sorts of politicians who sponsored it. We’ll get to see them in person!”

“I wouldn’t be so excited about that if I were you.”

Hermione frowned. “Why?”

“Most of them aren’t the biggest fans of muggleborns.”

Hermione swore.

“Language, Hermione.”

“Oh shut it, Ron. This whole muggleborn prejudice is so incredibly stupid! Sometimes I just wish I was someone big and important so I could stomp all over those idiotic people --  _ especially that dumb Pansy Parkinson _ \-- and show them who’s really boss.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Announcement: one of my betas is moving on to other pursuits, and I am now in need of a second beta. I’m looking for someone mainly to help close plotholes (I have over 100 pages of planning info), and check plot/flow. Bonus points for someone who is from the UK. If you’re interested, please comment (to my knowledge, there isn't a PM function on ao3)


	13. Uagadou

# 

_ Great Hall _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 15 November 1992 _

 

Harry poked nervously at his lunch. Uagadou’s team had arrived just under an hour ago, and Harry was beginning to feel the pressure. He glanced around. At the insistence of Madam Hooch, a special table had been set up for the Quidditch players so that they could bond before the game. The team bonding was going...interestingly. 

Harry ducked as a bean whizzed overhead, courtesy of Fred or George. The rest of the team snickered, but after a glare from Hooch, the twins settled back down. 

“We’ll be heading down to the Pitch in five minutes,” Hooch said. “Be certain you’ve all eaten something -- I’m looking at you, Potter, and you, Davies.”

The Slytherin and the Ravenclaw exchanged panicked looks, then hastily turned their eyes back to their plates. All too soon, it seemed, they were heading down to the Pitch, filing into the locker room, and changing into their uniforms. 

Harry pulled on the black trousers, the black longsleeve, and the black robes with gold piping. Despite the Hufflepuff colors, Harry had to admit that the uniforms were pretty sharp. The black made the gold pop, especially with their surnames which were emblazoned across their backs. 

“Alright team, circle up,”  Hooch shouted from the main room. “We’ve been training hard these last couple of weeks, and now it’s time to put that training to use. We need to go out strong, and play a clean game. I don’t anticipate any problems, but just in case, reserves, you need to have your full attention on the game and be ready to go at a moment’s notice. Davies, Flint, Johnson -- I’ve been watching their Chasers and I think you three will have the upper hand. Flint, it’s okay to be physical, but don’t incur any fouls. I’m sure Wood can stop them, but I don’t want to take any risks. Weasleys, their Beaters, Okonjo and Kalu, are strong players. You’ll have to keep a sharp eye on them, and out play them in terms of strategy, which I think you will do fantastically.”

The twins nodded in unison. 

“Potter, their Seeker is also small. Make sure to play aggressively at the beginning -- your Wronski Feint is very solid, and it’ll help to throw her off her game. I’m confident in everyone. Play like you practice, and we’ll have this one in the bag. Now, before we go out there, I want everyone to find a space to lie down.” 

There was a brief commotion as everyone dispersed throughout the room. 

“Close your eyes,” Hooch said softly, “Visualize everything we do in practice... Picture yourself doing it perfectly…. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.” 

Harry felt himself slowly relaxing, tension seeping out of his muscles and into the floor. He could see himself pulling off the perfect Wronski Feint, and zooming back upwards. He could practically feel the Snitch encased inside his hand. 

“When you feel you’re ready, stand up, and put your hands in.” 

Harry stood up slowly and circled up with the rest of the team. 

“Hogwarts on the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

“HOGWARTS!” 

“Reserves, follow me to the players’ box. Primary team, wait at the Pitch entrance. When you hear the announcer call out Hogwarts, you may fly out. Any questions?”

They all shook their heads no. They’d practiced this several times. 

“Excellent. Good luck, team.” 

With that, Hooch left. 

Silence hung in the air for a moment. 

“I suppose we should queue up, then,” Wood said. 

Butterflies pummelled Harry’s insides as they lined up at the entrance to the Pitch, brooms in hand. 

“Good luck, team.”

“We got this, I believe in us.”

“Let’s go and smash them!”

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” a voice boomed. “WELCOME TO FIRST MATCH OF THE INTERNATIONAL SCHOLASTIC QUIDDITCH TOURNAMENT!” 

Cheers erupted from the stadium, and Harry gulped. This was it. Any moment now, the introductions would begin, and he would be leaving the safety of the locker room for the Pitch. 

“Today’s match is held here, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland. We have clear skies and beautiful weather. Now, to welcome our teams. Visiting from Uagadou, we haaaaave Nabwire! Hamya! Jang! Okonjo! Kalu! Sekibo! Aaaaaand Akintola!

“From our home team of Hogwarts, please welcome Davies! Johnson! Flint! Weasley! Weasley! Wood! Aaaaaaaand Potter!” 

Harry zoomed out of the locker room and out into the open air. Wind ripped through his hair as the nervous butterflies vanished. The audience was going completely ballistic as he tailed Wood in the introductory lap around the Pitch -- whether it was because he was the ‘famous’ Harry Potter or because they were excited about the Hogwarts team or there was someone famous from Uagadou, Harry didn’t know. He didn’t particularly care, either. He had a job to do, a position to play, and he wasn’t going to let the audience distract him.

“The players are in position! The Quaffle has been released! The Bludgers are out! The Snitch is active! The game has begun!” 

Harry quickly rose up to hover above the game, trying to get an eye on the Snitch. If he could go for an early catch, it’d win the game decisively for Hogwarts without revealing too much of their Chaser and Beater strategy. Unfortunately, there was no sign of the Snitch.

“Hogwarts has possession of the Quaffle! Davies, to Flint, back to Davies, passes to Johnson, and, oh, intercepted by Hamya, who sends it to Nabwire, and it’s been stolen by Flint who takes off across the Pitch! A risky pass to Johnson, who manages to hold onto the Quaffle and send it back to Flint, who streaks towards the goals. Sekibo is looking confident in front of those goal posts…Flint makes a quick pass to Davies. Jang tries to block the pass but comes up short. Davies goes to shoot -- oh, it was a fake, he passes to Flint who shoots, aaaaand he scores! That marks the first goal of the game, making the score 10 for Hogwarts and 0 for Uagadou.” 

Harry began a spiral search pattern of the Pitch. The other Seeker, Akintola, was on the opposite side carrying out her own game plan. Harry grinned. It was time to throw her off her game. Once his spiral pattern took him close enough to her, he’d try the Wronski Feint. 

“And that brings the score up to 40-20, in favor of Hogwarts! Weasley and Weasley are successfully disrupting Uagadou’s Chasers, leaving Kalu and Okonjo with their hands full. They certainly don’t lack strength -- look at the speed of that Bludger sent by Okonjo -- Weasley and Weasley move as one unit while Kalu and Okonjo move as separate players. Davies passes to Johnson, and that’s another goal for Hogwarts!” 

Harry trained his eyes on Akintola. One more spiral, and he’d easily be in her line of sight. 

“Nabwire to Jang, Jang back to Nabwire, who shoots aaaand Wood blocks it! Passes to Flint, who sends it to Johnson. Johnson to Davies, oh, intercepted by Nabwire, who throws it to Hamya -- stolen by Flint! And -- has Potter seen the Snitch?”

Harry trained his eye at a spot down on the grass below, chest flattened to his broom. 

“Akintola follows Potter, hoping to nab the Snitch and bring a quick win to Uagadou.”

He was close to the ground now. Ten meters. Seven. Five. Four. Three. Harry braced himself. Two. 

He pulled out of the dive, and shot upwards, watching as Akintola whizzed past and nearly collided with the Pitch. 

“A nearly perfect Wronski Feint, pulled off by Potter! A dangerous and risky move, and nailed at such a young age. England better keep its eyes open for Potter in a couple years…”

Harry scanned the Pitch. Hogwarts was in the lead, and if he could win the game now, it’d be a solid win, putting Hogwarts in a good place for the next round of the tournament. 

“Davies scores! Hogwarts, 70, Uagadou, 30!”

There! Harry’s eyes honed in on the Snitch. Tracking the ball’s motions carefully, he adjusted his course ever so slightly so he would fly by the Snitch’s location without looking suspicious. He was certain he could outfly Akintola, but there was not need to take unnecessary risks. 

Harry flew steadily closer. The Snitch was fluttering downwards, towards the Pitch, and any moment now he’d have to go into a dive and give away its position. 

“Hamya shoots, Wood goes for the block and just barely misses...Hamya scores! Hogwarts, 100, Uagadou, 50!” 

Harry took a deep breath. This was it. He angled his broom downwards and plunged earthward. 

“Flint to Johnson, Johnson to Davies, and back to Flint! Flint heading down the Pitch...has Potter seen the Snitch?”

He was fifteen meters away. Thirteen. Twelve. 

“Potter continues to dive…”

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.

Harry urged his broom faster. Wind rushed through his hair.

Five. Four. Three. Two.

Harry reached out his hand, fingers grasping.

One.

He closed in on cold metal. 

“Potter catches the Snitch! Hogwarts wins, 250 to 50!” 

The stadium erupted in cheers, and Harry’s heart soared. Six players streaked towards him as Hooch and the reserves sprinted out onto the Pitch. Harry floated slowly towards the ground, where he was practically pulled out of the air and enveloped in a group hug. 

“Hogwarts! Hogwarts! Hogwarts!” 

Harry was hoisted onto someone’s shoulders as they cheered. 

“Alright, team, put Potter down,” Hooch said after a couple minutes. 

“But --”

“You need to show good sportsmanship. Go shake the hands of the Uagadou players, congratulate them on a game well-played, and do your cooldown lap. You can continue celebrating in the locker room.”

Sobering up somewhat, they queued up to meet the Uagadou team at the center of the Pitch. After the customary handshake, they were airborne again, taking a victory lap of the field before landing once again by Hooch, who was now accompanied by a pudgy man in a pinstripe suit and a lime green bowler hat. 

“Team, this is Minister Fudge,” Hooch said. “He would like a photograph with all of you.” 

Harry frowned slightly. He was pretty sure that ‘Minister Fudge wants a photo with the team’ loosely translated to ‘Minister Fudge wants a photo with Harry Potter.’ If this got back to Lockhart in any capacity, Harry wouldn’t have a moment’s reprieve in Defense class, let alone from Malfoy.

Sure enough, when it was time to take the photo, Minister Fudge threw his arm cordially over Harry’s shoulders. Harry faked a happy grin for the  _ Prophet _ photographer, then made a quick escape with the rest of the team. There were celebrations to be had, and, if the rumours were true, Fred and George had managed to smuggled a whole lot of Butterbeer out of Hogsmeade.

* * *

 

_ Minister’s Box _

_ Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 15 November 1992 _

 

“So that’s the Potter boy,” Thomas said, quirking an eyebrow. “He doesn’t seem like much, does he, for a vanquisher of Dark Lords.” 

“Indeed,” Lucius replied, watching the Minister pose insipidly with the children, his esteem for the man plummeting even further. 

“You failed to mention Potter is in Slytherin.”

Lucius was taken aback. “I thought you knew -- surely it was all over the  _ Prophet _ ?”

“Oddly enough, no.” 

“Strange.” 

“My thoughts exactly. Tell me, Lucius, what do you know of Harry Potter?”

“Other than what is common knowledge, I assume? Draco complains about Potter on a regular basis -- apparently he has not only befriended Weasley, but also is on cordial terms with both Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. This irks Draco to no end as he believes Nott and Zabini should rightfully be his friends.”

“Your son has a lot to learn,” Thomas mused. 

“Trust me, I am more than aware,” Lucius said, exasperation creeping into his tone. “Allegedly, Severus does not hate Potter either, but whether that is a mere facade put in place to please Dumbledore or his true feelings, I do not know. Severus has always been a slippery one.”

“Severus has always been the consummate Slytherin. You know, I have been meaning to meet with him to see where his loyalties truly lie, but decided to wait. He seems rather comfortable in Dumbledore’s pocket, however, the man is an excellent actor. I am reserving judgement on him for now. Continuing on the subject of Potter…”

“I do not know much else about him,” Lucius admitted. “I could ask Draco to investigate, but I fear his lack of subtlety.” 

“My feelings are the same. You ought to work with him on that.” 

“Believe me, I tried. I was thinking of sending him to visit his cousins in France in two summers time. Perhaps they will be able to accomplish what I cannot.” 

Silence hung in the air for the briefest of moments. “Indeed,” Thomas said slowly. “Lucius, you would do well to remember one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“The best part of ‘believe’ is ‘lie’. Don’t fool yourself about your son.” Thomas turned on his heel and left in a swirl of navy cloak, leaving Lucius alone with much to ponder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Reader feedback question: what did you think of the Quidditch scene? I have several more to write, and am trying to figure out the best way to portray it.


	14. Covens and Covenants

# 

_ Personal Office Space of Lord Thomas Gaunt _

_ Gaunt House, Cornwall, England _

_ 20 November 1992 _

 

_ Lord Gaunt -- _

 

_ We find the contents of your missive amenable to our goals. I, however, have many qualms regarding the feasibility of your plan, particularly where the so-called Lord Dumbledore is concerned. His politics will make it rather difficult to implement your ideas, unless the political calculus in Britain has taken a sharp turn for the Traditional.  _

_ Despite the implementation troubles I forsee, I am intrigued by your plan and would like further information. What are the specific policies you plan to implement, and how will you guarantee the coven a seat on the Wizengamot? _

 

_ Yours in sincerity, _

_ Isleen Sayre _

_ Matriarch, Sayre Coven _

  
  


_ Lord Gaunt -- _

 

_ Such an intriguing morsel of information. It appears Britain is finally going to set upon the right path after many long years spent astray.  We will support your mission from afar, though we will refrain from reuniting with the British and our northern sisters until you can prove that such an alliance will be more beneficial than remaining as a separate, superior Ireland. If your ill-fated campaign succeeds, we will re-evaluate the situation. _

 

_ Orlaith Morholt _

_ Matriarch, Morholt Coven _

 

Thomas tapped his fingers idly on his desk. 

“What’s the word?” Lucius asked. 

“Better than expected. Sayre Coven was receptive, and Morholt Coven didn’t curse the letter. Orlaith Morholt was surprisingly civil.” 

Lucius shuddered. “I have never liked the Morholts.”

Thomas shrugged elegantly. Personally, he held no warm feelings for the darkest and most dangerous coven. The Morholts had a reputation for dabbling in Olde Magick -- the ancient rituals that once dominated the British Isles before and during the fall of the Roman Empire -- and for often using their ‘guests’ as ‘willing’ participants for their practices. While Thomas was in no means a morally upright individual, and he fully embraced the use of the Dark Arts, he was nowhere near as twisted as the Morholt Coven and their corruption of what were once sacred practices. 

“The Morholts may be our allies,” Thomas said smoothly. “Orlaith is supportive of our mission, and once we are further along in our plan, we may be able to convince them to lead the rest of the southern covens to rejoin Britain. The O’Hares in the north are neutral enough to not actively hurt our cause, and all of the southern covens will certainly support us -- that gives us Sayre, Morholt, Quigley, Quirke, and Rowan, with the possibility of O’Hare in the north.” 

Lucius frowned. “Not all of them can get seats on the Wizengamot.” 

“Of course not. Sayre and Morholt will require seats, and perhaps one of the northern covens as well to sweeten the pot. Most likely O’Hare, since they are the most sympathetic to our cause.”

Lucius drummed his fingers. “At least three seats with have to be budgeted for the south -- otherwise they’ll feel the north is still getting a better deal.” 

“Sayre and Morholt are a given. Quirke, Quigley and Rowan will have to fight it out amongst themselves.”

“So we’ll end up with Rowan?”

“Most likely. Niamh Rowan is a formidable witch.” 

Lucius sipped his whiskey. “Indeed.”

“The next question we have to solve is legislation. I believe I can finangle my way onto the committee boards, if needed, although you may be the more palatable choice as far as Regent Bones is concerned, and you have further sway given your position on the Hogwarts Board of Directors. Although,” Thomas began, stopping mid sentence as an idea hit, “Narcissa may be an excellent candidate for the Primary School Director Board. She has the tact and cunning of a true Slytherin, and has plenty of connections in high society.”

Lucius thought for a second. “That could work quite well, actually. Narcissa has languished somewhat this year, with Draco in school.” 

“Excellent. Speak with her, and find if she is amenable.” 

“I will. Now, to address the most important matter at hand…” 

Thomas allowed himself to smile slightly. “Naturally. The matter of our errant Dark Lord. I sent Wormtail to search for him…”

“Wormtail?”

“Of course. He is expendable, after all.” 

Lucius chuckled darkly. “You do jest most wonderfully. Have you received any news?”

Thomas sipped his drink. “Wormtail has produced minimal information, much to my chagrin. I let him know the exact extent of my displeasure, and reminded him of my position in the Dark Lord’s order. Needless to say, Wormtail should now be sufficiently motivated. He believes the Dark Lord has left the British Isles, and he now plans to search the Continent.” 

“Excellent. And in terms of the Dark Lord’s inner circle…” Lucius asked, the smallest hint of anxiety creeping into his voice. 

“As long as you keep up with your Wizengamot agenda, and succeed in implementing the majority of your policies, I believe the Dark Lord will hold you in high esteem.”  

Lucius smiled and raised his glass. “Now that’s something I can truly drink to. To a new way of living!”

They chinked glasses, and Thomas allowed a satisfied grin to cross his face. “Indeed.” 

A knock sounded at the door. 

“Ah, that would be Thaddeus,” Thomas mused. “Come in.”

The mahogany door opened soundlessly to reveal the tall graying figure of Thaddeus Nott. 

“Welcome to my humble abode, Thaddeus. Would you care for a drink?”

“Certainly. Nice spot you have here, Thomas.”

“Thank you.” He carefully poured and passed a glass of whiskey. “How is your family, Thaddeus?” 

“Excellent, actually. Diana is settling into her first year at Hogwarts, and has become fast friends with Anna Runcorn, and Tatiana Stark, of all people. The Runcorns are quite powerful, but I don’t know how I feel about her association with the Stark girl -- at least their family holds the right beliefs. I have no complaints about Theodore. He gets perfect O’s in the classes where it matters and is on good terms with everyone in his year -- which is less than what I could say for your son, Lucius.”

Thomas watched in amusement as the muscle in Lucius’ jaw tightened imperceptibly. 

“Theodore really takes after his mother with all his tact -- was Rhea your third cousin, Lucius?”

“Fourth,” Lucius gritted out. “And the last of the Black Heights Malfoys.” 

“Yes, of course. A pity that Draco doesn’t take after either of his, and his appearance  makes him undoubtedly yours.” 

Slight hints of pink tinged Lucius’ cheekbones.

“And as for my eldest, Aria,” Thaddeus continued, “she is the epitome of her mother as well. Driven, ambitious, intelligent, cunning -- what more could I ask for in a daughter?”

Lucius fumed, and Thomas chuckled lightly. “Thaddeus, as much as it amuses me, leave Lucius alone. We need to plot our next legislative move, and all of us must be at top form.”

Thaddeus muttered something under his breath that sounded like ‘poncey arse.’ Thomas chose to ignore it. 

“Lucius and I have already discussed the primary schools,” Thomas began. “We must chart our next move carefully. I made the mistake of beginning aggressively before, and I will not make the same error again. I have contacted the Sayre Coven and the Morholt Coven and will send word out to the Rowan Coven as well. I wish to lay the groundwork for a unified Britain.”

“A wise plan, but what else?” Thaddeus asked.

Thomas smiled coldly. “Listen carefully…”

* * *

 

_ 21 November 1992 _

_ POTTER, WOOD, IMPRESS AGAINST UAGADOU _

_ by Ralph Whizzle _

Despite his tender years, Hogwarts second year Harry Potter has proven himself a force to be reckoned with in the International Scholastic Tournament. Post-round one position polls rank Potter as the second best Seeker in the tournament. Durmstrang’s Viktor Krum holds the top spot, and the top five are rounded out by Chloe Colarusso of Ilvermorny in third, Shu Zhong of Tang Taizong in fourth, and Elena Vasilieva of Koldovstoretz in fifth. Hogwarts sixth year Oliver Wood was another standout from the match where he saved all but five goals. His save ratio ties him for the second rank for the Keepers with Ilvermorny’s Benjamin Sayre. Pyotr Isenbaev of Koldovstoretz claims the top spot. Both Durmstrang and Loihi’s Keepers also had successful round one performances, with Hans Kowal and Amalia Barebone taking fourth and fifth spots respectively. 

The rest of Team Hogwarts had a solid game as well, with the game against Uagadou ending with a score of 200-50 in favor of the Dragons. The Chaser machine of Marcus Flint, Angelina Johnson, and Roger Davies scored a combined ten goals, compared to Uagadou’s five, putting Hogwarts in a solid lead before Potter caught the Snitch. Fred and George Weasley were equally important, disrupting many of Uagadou’s plays and directly stopping three of the other team’s goal attempts. Chaser and Beater ranking will be released later this week, and given Hogwarts’ strong showing, it’s highly likely that several players made it into the top ten. 

Round two of the tournament will kick off on 12 December, where Hogwarts will face off against Koldovstoretz. The match will be played at Koldovstoretz, and those interested in buying tickets should owl Patricia Brightley in the Magical Games and Sports Department. 

The other round two matches are as follows:

Tang Taizong versus Loihi, hosted by Tang Taizong School

Durmstrang versus Castelobruxo, hosted by Durmstrang Institute

Ilvermorny versus Mahoutokoro, hosted by Mahoutokoro

**Ralph Whizzle is a former Chaser for the Falmouth Falcons**

* * *

 

_ The Burrow _

_ Devon, England _

_ 21 November, 1992 _

 

“Look, Bill, I just don’t want to.”

Bill stared into the Floo. At the tender age of twenty-two, he was busy juggling a full-time job as a curse breaker at Gringotts, his duties as a Wizengamot heir, and an attempt to act as a stand-in father for his six younger siblings. “What do you mean?”

Charlie sighed. “I don’t want to. The dragons are my calling, not politics. I need to be out here, on the preserve, in the open air where I can breathe, not shut up in some chamber with a bunch of stuffy old purebloods.”

“You’re descended from a line of stuffy old purebloods.”

“Yeah, and I want nothing to do with them!”

“It’s your duty!”

“And I  _ don’t _ want to do it!” Charlie all but shouted. “It’s not like we have a shortage of capable people to take my place -- Fred, George --”

Bill snorted. “Please. They’re less suited to politics than you are.”

“--Ron--”

Bill thought for a moment. “You could be onto something there. He’s so young though…”

“He’s just as old as the heirs to the Nott and Malfoy seats,” Charlie pointed out. “Besides, Ron stopped being a little kid when Dad died.”

“Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy won’t have to sit on the Wizengamot until their fathers pass or otherwise cede the position to them. Ron would be bound to sit once he turns seventeen.” 

“That’s no different than the position Harry Potter is in,” Charlie argued. “And Ron has us to support and help him, while Potter has nothing.”

“I thought you said you wanted to have nothing to do with the Wizengamot?”

“I don’t, but you and Percy are heavily involved.”

Bill sighed. “You aren’t wrong.” 

Silence hung in the air, and suddenly Charlie chuckled. 

“What?”

“It’s ironic, isn’t it, that the one Slytherin Weasley will be holding the Gryffindor seat.”

“Funny.” 

“How’s Mum doing?”

“...it would have been better if you hadn’t asked.”

“That bad, huh?”

“She’s been working a lot, over at a small Spanish place in Sydewaize Alley, but it’s long hours for little pay. Percy landed a good internship at the Ministry last summer and made a good bit of money. He didn’t tell Mum how much of it he put towards Ginny’s school supplies -- it’s funny, you wouldn’t necessarily expect it of Percy, but he’s got a protective streak a mile wide, especially when it comes to Ginny. Ron works hard over the summer, too, and takes at least one meal a day at the pub so that he doesn’t strain the family’s finances. It’s sad, seeing a twelve-year-old like that, and even sadder seeing Mum not realize it. You’re old enough to remember how she use to be…”

“Yeah, I remember. Never thought I’d wish to hear her yell.” 

“None of us thought we would.”

A great feeling of melancholy filled the room, and Bill sighed as he checked his watch. “Look, Charlie, I’ve got to get to work now. It was nice talking to you, though, and I hope you’ll give the Wizengamot seat a second thought. Get back to me by the end of next week -- if you’re going to bypass your duty, then I have to owl George, then Fred, and if they bypass as well, then Ron will inherit, and he’ll need to prepare for that. Take care, Charlie.”

“See you,” Charlie mumbled before pulling out of the Floo. 

Bill raked a hand through his hair. He had enough on his plate without Charlie shirking his family duties. He needed to work, navigate the insidious political landscape of the Wizengamot, and somehow find time to date and find a wife. He was getting old, and time was slipping through his fingers. 

Bill straightened his cloak and threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames, shouting “Gringotts Employee Entrance!” before whirling away in the emerald fire. 

“Mr. Weasley! Nice to see you this morning!”

Bill dusted the nearly imperceptible soot off his shoulders. “Good morning, Gresco,” he said, nodding in the general direction of the portly wizard, who proceeded to beam at him before bustling off. 

“Bogrod!” Bill called suddenly. “Greetings!”

The goblin nodded in acknowledgement. 

“I was wondering if I could have a word.”

“Certainly. In my office?”

“That would be preferable, thank you.” 

Bill followed Bogrod across the foyer and though the maze of corridors that formed the office side of Gringotts. As a curse breaker, Bill was more than familiar with the corridors and the goblins that ran them. The Goblin Nation was a ruthless and cunning people, and over the years, Bill had realized that goblin businessmen are incredibly shrewd, and make most Slytherins look like first year Hufflepuffs in terms of cunning. Their internal politics were just as nuanced as those of wizards, who most goblins held in high disdain. Bill seemed to be the exception to that particular rule, which caused him no small amount of worry. It was highly out of character for goblins to be genuinely respectful towards wizards, and they made no overtures of friendship without an ulterior motive. 

“Here,” Bogrod said, interrupting Bill’s thoughts.

Bill followed him into the small chamber, and took a seat before the desk. “I have a question about the  new junior cursebreaker program,” he began. “Grausam mentioned it to me last week, and I was wondering what the details were.” 

“You’re asking on behalf of your youngest brother, then?”

“Yes. I haven’t said anything to him about it yet, though. I didn’t want to get his hopes up in case it wasn’t feasible for us.” 

“Prudent. The program is a ten-week immersion experience where a select group of young witches and wizards are able to learn the basics of curse-breaking -- mostly the low-level arithmancy work. It’s a paid position.”

“How much?”

“More than sufficient for your younger brother’s needs, should he pass our entry requirements.”

“Thank you, Bogrod, I will pass that information onto him.” With that, Bill left, still feeling like the goblin  had somehow outwitted him during their exchange.


	15. The Tip

# 

_ Offices of the Daily Prophet _

_ Diagon Alley, London, England _

_ 25 November 1992 _

 

“Lovely, Podmore, you can put my tea there,” Rita said, gesturing vaguely to the one free corner of her desk. 

The intern did as he was told, then stood there.

Rita frowned. “Well, get a move on!” she snapped. “Some of us have  _ work _ to do.” 

“Westinburgh from the gossip column wanted me to give this to you,” Podmore said nervously, holding out a small envelope. “She said you’d be able to write a piece on it better than anyone from her division.”

“Damn straight,” Rita muttered, snatching the envelope from Podmore, who abruptly skittered off. 

Sighing, Rita slid one red nail under the flap of the envelope and spread the photographs out on her desk. “My, my, my, what do we have here?” she mused, carefully studying the window of a small upscale coffee shop. “A fancy place to get coffee, without a doubt. Now, let’s see who our actors are…” Rita reached for the next photo. Unfortunately, both subjects had their backs to her, but there was no mistaking the well-dressed man with a long blonde braid for anyone but Lord Austin Yaxley. 

Rita clicked her nails on her desk thoughtfully. What did she know about Austin Yaxley? He was in his mid thirties, if she remembered correctly, and the younger brother of Corban Yaxley, a convicted Death Eater who’d died during the Dark Uprising. Surprisingly, Austin Yaxley had managed to avoid any Death Eater convictions, either through serendipitous timing with his brother’s death, or he’d truly been uninterested in movement. Rita didn’t buy that for a moment -- she wasn’t stupid, and the man’s voting record spoke for him -- but he was too careful to be caught. This, of course, had made Yaxley the younger quite disappointing in terms of the  _ Daily Prophet _ ’s gossip column, but she had a feeling that was about to change. 

A smile slowly crept across Rita’s face. The tall, black-haired, and olive-skinned woman standing next to Yaxley could only be one witch: the Widower, Maura Zabini. For all Yaxley’s apparent care in his political posturing, could he have possibly made the simple mistake of falling for a pretty face? It was unlikely, but stranger things had happened. 

Rita took a sip of her tea. Maura Zabini was six times wed, six times widowed, with each husband more wealthy and powerful than the last. It wasn’t entirely inconceivable that the entire situation was Zabini’s plan, not Yaxley’s. And, taking a further leap of faith, Yaxley could be only one of Zabini’s possible targets. With the amount of wealth she’d inherited over the past twelve years, she could easily marry into the upper echelons of pureblood society. And, assuming she wanted to marry into the highest social tier, Zabini would be aiming for a Wizengamot Lord. Out of the Wizengamot Lords, only four didn’t have heirs: Black, Gaunt, Shacklebolt, and Yaxley. 

Black obviously wasn’t an option due to his current residence in Azkaban, and Gaunt clearly had something dangerous up his sleeve -- perhaps Zabini liked danger, but Rita had a feeling she’d want an easier target. Shacklebolt wouldn’t be it; not only was the man far too wily for his own good, but he also was a powerful wizard with the capacity to annihilate even Zabini if she made a wrong move. That left Yaxley. As a Noble House, Yaxley wasn’t even on the bottom of the barrel for the Wizengamot. 

Rita drummed her fingers. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense, and the more she liked it. The only problem she had was figuring out how to write it…

_ Knock. _

“Come in,” Rita gritted out. Couldn’t people understand that she had important work to do? 

“Skeeter, have you made any progress on that Gaunt piece?”

Rita curled her lip as she stared her boss down. “I updated you last week, Caulfield. There’s been nothing since the family tree lead fizzled out.”

“And you haven’t been working on it?”

Rita resisted the urge to call the idiotic moron all the names he  _ so _ deserved. “I have been

working on it. There’s nothing. Zilch. Nada. Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“Look, Skeeter, all I see is that I gave you a very important task and, thus far, you have failed to complete it. I need to see some progress -- real progress, mind you -- or I’ll take you off the task.”

Rita felt like she’d just swallowed a lemon. “I’ll get it done. I need more time. Gaunt is one tricky bastard…” something clicked in her mind. What if Thomas Gaunt was a bastard, and adopted back into the family? “Get out of here, Caulfield, I just had an idea.”

* * *

 

_ Upper Years Common Area _

_ Durmstrang Institute of Magic, Norway _

_ 26 November 1992 _

 

“Viktor!” 

Viktor looked up guiltily from where he’d been enchanting his spare quill to play Quidditch. “Stefan. What are you even doing here? Don’t you have homework to do?” 

“I could ask the same about you, big brother. Mother sent a letter.” 

Viktor frowned. “Why’d she sent it to you?” 

“Because I’m young, impressionable, and need guidance in this dark and mysterious world we live in?” Stefan asked cheekily. 

“Hmm. I don’t think that’s it.”

“Take a joke!”

“Sure. What did Mother want?”

“To check to see if I was doing my homework.”

Viktor glared at him.

“And to congratulate you on your catch that sealed the win for Durmstrang against Bombay Institute.”

“Pssh. We were already up by 240 points. What did Mother actually want?”

Stefan scratched his head nervously. “About that…”

“What?”

Stefan dug a crumpled piece of parchment at him. “Just read it.”

 

_ Dear Stefan,  _

 

_ I was quite pleased with your midterm grades and I hope you continue the good work. If you continue to succeed in Potions and Dark Arts, you could have quite an exciting career ahead of you!  _

_ Pass on a congratulations on to your brother on his excellent game of Quidditch against Bombay Institute. The Bulgarian national coach was there, and needless to say, he was quite impressed. If I read him correctly, you could be playing on the national team as soon as next year! Good luck in your next game against Castelobruxo and keep up those Transfiguration grades -- your Father was quite impressed with your latest project.  _

_ As a note for both of you, we will be spending the Yule holiday in Russia with the entire extended family. Sergei and Madelaine were quite adamant, and I’m certain you two are eager to visit with your cousins. Even our British relatives will be visiting, which is quite exciting. I’m sure I do not need to emphasize how important it is to be on your best behaviour over the holidays and to constantly be on guard.  _

_ Enjoy the rest of term,  _

 

_ Love, _

_ Mother _

 

“I see,” Viktor said slowly. 

“You see?” Stefan asked, voice sounding just a touch hysterical. “Last time we had a family gathering in Russia, Ivan stole my teddy bear and wouldn’t give it back!”

“So you’re worried about a teddy bear?”

“Yes!”

Viktor sighed. “Sometimes I forget how dumb twelve-year olds are.”

“Hey!” Stefan objected. “I’m not dumb!”

“Of course you aren’t. Look, Stefan, if you don’t want Ivan to steal your bear, then don’t bring it.”

“But --”

“Besides, there’s bigger things to worry about.”

“Like what?”

“Like if the Tsarina’s family will be visiting as well.”

“The Tsarina’s family?” Stefan asked, brow wrinkling in confusion. “That’s --  _ oh _ .”

“Exactly. You would be wise to tread carefully around them.”

Stefan nodded fervently. “I will. And you promise you’ll protect me from Ivan?”

“If it is to my benefit, yes.”

“Wait. You, Eduard, and Ivan aren’t going to gang up on me again, are you?” 

Viktor grinned. “Perhaps.”

“No fair!” 

“You can play with your British cousins, or with Darya.”

Stefan pouted. “The British cousins are boring and they don’t speak Russian well.”

“You do speak English,” Viktor pointed out.

“Yeah, but I don’t like to,” Stefan whined. 

“Look, if you’re going to complain, go away. I need to solve this Arithmancy matrix before Quidditch practice.”

“Well maybe you should have been working on that earlier instead of charming your quill,” Stefan said sulkily.

“Go away, Stefan.”

“Fine.” 

Stefan picked up his letter and stomped off, leaving Viktor in the relative peace of the common room. Viktor sighed. If the Tsarina’s family was visiting, there would be problems indeed, and the fact that the British cousins were visiting made that even more likely. Stefan was too young to understand the political machinations of Russia’s ruling family, but Viktor understood all too clearly. While the Krum family was independently wealthy, and easily one of the richer families in Bulgaria, they didn’t quite tread in the same social circles as the Dolohovs did -- that was, until Sofia Morozova, granddaughter of Natalya Dolohova, married into the family. It was clearly a move at expansionism, and it had substantially elevated the Krum family’s social standing. Viktor could only imagine the conversations that would soon take place regarding his own marriage prospects, and he certainly wasn’t looking to them. Quidditch was more important than girls, and he’d been scouted by the national team. Surely that was good enough. 

Viktor stretched, and jotted a few more numbers into his Arithmancy matrix, then tapped it with his wand. The numbers shimmered for a moment, then collapsed into a smaller matrix. He breathed a sigh of relief, and scribbled several other numbers into the equation. It shuddered for a moment, and consolidated into one unified equation. With the equation complete, it’d be relatively simple to run each of the probability scenarios and determine the solutions. 

Viktor rubbed his temples. Arithmancy was going surprisingly well, which was a relief since it’d been rather challenging at first. He was due to take his Proficiency exams at the end of the year, and his test results would determine which classes he was eligible to take his sixth and seventh years. He was practically a shoe-in for Advanced Transfiguration and Advanced Defensive Techniques, and he was hoping to also take Dark Arts IV, Medicinal Potions, Global Studies, and Principles of Arithmancy. With any luck, he’d achieve high scores on his seventh year exams in Transfiguration and Defense, and pursue higher degrees in those at either the Wizarding College at Cambridge or Massachusetts Institute of Transfiguration in America. 

That was, if he didn’t end up playing professional Quidditch, or get roped into politics as his father hoped. Becoming a Quidditch star was far more appealing than becoming a Transfiguration professor. Viktor grinned, and went back to his work. Practice was less than an hour away.

* * *

 

_ 28 November 1992 _

_ Offices of the Daily Prophet _

_ Diagon Alley, London, England _

 

Rita studied the letter for a moment, then grinned. It had taken her ‘friend’ several days to dig up information on several of her old contacts, and still more time for her to craft the perfect letter. It had the perfect false flattery of politics, the subtle questions of an interrogator, and the slightest hint of blackmail. 

Rita blew softly on the ink, then sealed it, stamping her quill-and-inkpot motif into warm wax. Certain individuals were in for an unpleasant surprise, chief among them her old roommate DJ. The other woman would have no idea what hit her, and if DJ didn’t want to share her information, Rita had other  _ less _ scrupulous methods at her disposal that would be certain to yield results. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I apologize for the length -- I had a hard time writing this chapter and it came kicking and screaming into existence. On a more positive note, next week’s update will contain a certain dueling club...


	16. Dueling Club

# 

_ Great Hall _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 30 November 1992 _

 

“Can everybody see me?” Lockhart asked, pacing dramatically down the temporary dueling platform in a peacock blue set of robes. “Can everyone hear me?”

“Yes, not that it’ll help us,” Ron muttered.

Next to him, Harry snickered. 

Ron couldn’t agree more. He hadn’t thought that Lockhart’s lessons could get even more stupid, but they had. All they did during class was act out scenes from Lockhart’s books -- starring Lockhart and Harry, of course. It was incredibly dumb, especially since Ron was pretty sure Lockhart hadn’t done the things he said he had. After all, the idiot thought that  _ Peskipiksi Pesternomi _ was a spell. 

Lockhart pranced on the dueling platform. “As you all know, I teach first and second year Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Dumbledore has graciously permitted me to work with all years to start this little Dueling Club. I’m going to train you all up! I didn’t defeat the Babbling Banshee by just smiling at her, you know.”

Several of the girls sighed, and Ron made a puke face.

“He really thinks he’s clever, doesn’t he?”

Harry mimed vomiting. “Sorry, was too busy sicking up to pay attention.”

Lockhart unfastened his half-cloak -- also in a ridiculous shade of peacock blue -- and threw it off the platform. Dunbar, Brown, and the Gryffindor Patil shrieked with joy as they caught it, causing a small scuffle.

“Nauseating as it is, he does know how to work a crowd,” Ron said.

“Sure...why’d we come here again?” 

“Because the buffoon chose Snape to help him out, and watching that is going to be even better than the latest fight scene from  _ Auror Bartleby _ !”

Harry grinned. “Right. Can’t wait to see that.” 

“Let me introduce,” Lockhart began dramatically, “my assistant, Professor Snape!”

The Slytherins cheered while the other three Houses boo’d. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Harry muttered. “You know everyone who isn’t Lockhart-crazy is just  _ itching _ for Snape to blast Lockhart across the hall.”

“He has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration,” Lockhart continued. “Don’t worry, you’ll still have you Potions Master when I’m through with him.” 

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Is he really that deluded?”

Lockhart paced forward to meet Snape in the middle of the dueling platform where they went through the motions of the formal dueling bow. Lockhart performed his flamboyantly, and Snape with an air of grim determination. 

Snape turned crisply, walked three steps backwards and turned to face Lockhart with his wand drawn, looking for all the world like a viper ready to strike. Lockhart posed jauntily with his weight on his back foot. Ron shook his head. Lockhart was painting himself more and more a fool by the minute. Ron wasn’t a dueling expert by any stretch of imagination, but he knew that starting on your back foot was not proper form.

“One,” Lockhart counted insipidly, “two, three!”

“ _ Expelliarmus! _ ” Snape snapped, wand whipping through the motion like lightning as a flash of red light sped towards Lockhart where it blasted him across the platform and into the wall. 

The Slytherins cheered, and Snape smirked. 

Lockhart rose to his feet slowly, and with a bit of difficulty. “Ah, yes, Professor Snape, a great idea to show them that. If I had wanted to block you, it would have been quite easy, you know, as it was terribly obvious what you were about to do…”

Snape stared at Lockhart. “Perhaps, Professor,” he sneered, “it would be prudent to teach the students how to block unfriendly spells first.”

Lockhart wilted slightly. “Of course, of course, an excellent suggestion, Professor. Everyone, pair up!” 

Ron and Harry immediately paired up while Lockhart mumbled a couple of vague things about the Protego charm before announcing they were ready to begin practicing.

“What can of special idiot is he, that he thinks we can learn the Shield Charm without a proper demonstration of the wand movement?” Ron asked frustratedly. “Thank Merlin Snape already taught us all.”

“I know, right?” Harry asked, sending a Jelly-Legs Jinx towards Ron, who neatly blocked it. “He was a Ravenclaw, too...allegedly.”

“ _ Locomotor mortis! _ ”

“ _ Protego! _ No way!”

“Yes, way,” Harry insisted. 

“ _ Expelliarmus! _ ”

“ _ Protego! _ ”

“I don’t believe it!” 

“It’s in the old yearbook in the library. Believe me, I checked.”

Ron made a face. “Ew.”

“He played Quidditch, too.”

“That’s...just awful.”

“I know.” 

Several firecrackers whizzed into the air. “Attention, everyone, it’s time for a student demonstration…” Lockhart began.

Harry frantically tried to hide behind Ron. 

“Mr. Potter,” Lockhart said, just as Snape said “Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry swore. 

“Ah,” Lockhart said, looking at his colleague in a apparent surprise. “Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, please come up to the stage.”

Harry groaned, then trudged up to the stage. Ron cracked his knuckles in anticipation. This was going to be good. 

“Now, disarming and shield charms only,” Lockhart said blithely. “Wands at the ready.”

Harry and Malfoy walked towards each other, drew their wands, and bowed before pivoting and walking back. 

“One, two, three.”

“ _ Expelliarmus! _ ” Harry bellowed, wand swiping through the motion immediately. 

“ _ Expell -- Protego! _ ” shouted Malfoy, his hasty shield barely surviving the impact of Harry’s spell.

Harry smirked. “ _ Expelli --” _

“ _ Serpensortia! _ ” 

A huge black snake shot out of Malfoy’s wand, and Harry stopped mid-charm to stare at it. 

“Stand back, Mr. Potter,” Snape began.

“No, no, I’ll take care of it,” Lockhart said, twirling his wand. “ _ Volata ascendere! _ ”

To nobody’s surprise but Lockhart’s, the snake shot upwards before landing back on the platform, angrier than ever. Hissing, it made its way down the platform towards Harry, who regarded it with mild bemusement. 

“Ssssssssthennnsss hashassssssss sssss,” Harry hissed. “Sassssssshassssss ssss haaa.” 

The snake stopped moving and hissed again. 

“Sassssssshassssss ssss haaa,” Harry hissed again, pointing to the other end of the platform. “Ssthessss sssensss ashshssss.”

The snake’s tongue flickered, then it abruptly changed directions and started slithering rapidly towards Malfoy, who screamed. 

Harry laughed. 

Panicked, Malfoy sprinted away from the rapidly approaching snake, only to be shoved aside by Snape. 

“ _ Vipera Evanesca! _ ”

The snake vanished in a puff of smoke as mutters filled the hall. Snape stared hard at Harry, then motioned for him to leave the platform.

“This meeting is adjourned,” Snape said over the din. “Head back to your common rooms.” 

Harry headed over to Ron. “That wasn’t fair,” he whined. “We didn’t learn the snake shooting spell in class.”

“Harry, you have bigger things to worry about than Malfoy not playing fair,” Ron said, noting the suspicious glares on his classmates’ faces. “You spoke to the snake.”

“So?” Harry asked, still annoyed about the spell, “what does that…?” All the color suddenly drained from his face. “ _ Oh _ .”

“Yeah. C’mon, let’s get back to the common room.” 

Much to Ron’s relief, Harry followed him back to the common room without

conversation. He had a lot to think about. He hadn’t been particularly chuffed when he found out Harry was a Parselmouth, but he also hadn’t been about to hold it against him. Harry was a good friend, and one of the first really solid mates that was Ron’s and not some acquaintance of Fred and George. The fact that the whole school knew now, though...that really threw a wrench in things. Parselmouths were typically notorious dark wizards, like You-Know-Who, and the last thing Ron wanted was to be branded as dark. That sort of reputation had a nasty habit of sticking with you, and cropping up where it was the least wanted and the most damaging. 

Ron sighed. He was going to have a lot of thinking to do, and none of it about good things.

* * *

 

_ Second Year Slytherin Boys Dormitory _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 30 November 1992 _

Draco Malfoy was furious. Of course, Potter had to come in and take all the glory while he had to sit on the sidelines and get yelled at by his godfather, of all people. It wasn’t fair, especially when Draco had spent the last couple of weeks working tirelessly on the Shield Charm after the mudblood Granger had mastered it during their DADA class. Not only had he managed to deflect Potter’s Disarming Charm, but he’d also managed to successfully cast the Snake Summoning Charm, which was at least third-year level. 

It just wasn’t fair! Professor Snape had actually been displeased with him. 

_ ‘I am going to be perfectly honest with you, Draco,’ he’d began. ‘You know I do not believe in sugarcoating anything, and if you are wise, you will listen closely. I am not saying these things to be unnecessarily cruel, but rather as a wake-up call. Right now, you are disgrace to both Slytherin House and your family. Not only have you allowed yourself to be bested by Granger in practice, but you permitted Potter to humiliate you in front of your peers. This is unacceptable.’ _

_ ‘But Potter  --’ _

_ ‘Do not interrupt me. Your composure is lacking, as well as your maturity, planning, and tact. You must work to improve yourself, else you will face consequences.’  _

_ ‘Consequences?’ _

_ ‘I have reason to believe your father is greatly displeased.’ _

_ Draco swallowed hard. _

_ ‘Get out of my office, Draco, and think upon what I have said.’ _

Draco had left immediately, and had headed up to his dorm room where he sat stewing. Why couldn’t anyone else see him for who he was: the future Lord Malfoy, and a clever, conniving Slytherin.

* * *

 

_ Entrance Hall _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry _

_ 1 December 1992 _

 

Whispers followed Ron and Harry everywhere. Ron ignored them -- it was only to be expected, but Harry had grown progressively more worried as the day progressed, although Ron couldn’t tell if that was because of the Parselmouth drama or the pending match against Koldovstoretz. Harry was more preoccupied with Quidditch than anything else at the moment, and Ron admired his focus. He just wished it was that easy for him. 

A group of Ravenclaws tittered as they walked by, and Ron scowled at them. Of all people, Ravenclaws should be rational enough to know that speaking Parseltongue didn’t have a direct correlation to becoming a dark wizard… of course, being school children, that threw all logic off, but at least the Ravens weren’t as bad as the Hufflepuffs. 

Ron sighed. “Harry, Hufflepuffs incoming at 11 o’clock.”

Harry groaned. “Again?”

“I think so.”

A knot of Hufflepuff second years marched towards them, headed by Ernie MacMillan, who was flanked by his two main cronies Justin Finch-Fletchley and Wayne Hopkins. Zacharias Smith hung back with a smirk on his stupid square face, and Olivier Rivers stood to the side, expression inscrutable. 

Ron rolled his eyes. At least one of the second year Hufflepuff boys had the sense not to get involved -- but then again, the Rivers were second cousins to the Delacours over in France, so Olivier would know better than to get involved in petty shows of dominance. 

MacMillan puffed out his chest as he walked closer. 

“Bet you he thinks he looks important,” Harry whispered. “I think he just looks constipated, don’t you think?” 

Ron barely contained a snicker. “You’re not wrong.”

“I know.”

“Shh, don’t laugh, they’ll think we’re crafting ‘evil plots’.” 

“Oh, Hufflepuffs.”

“Shh!” 

MacMillan stopped in front of them. “Harry Potter. We have Herbology together, but I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself.” He held out a pudgy hand for Harry to shake. It looked moist. “I’m Ernest MacMillan, nine generations pure. My father, Archibald MacMillan, is a member of the Trifecta.”

Silence hung in the air.

“Cool,” Harry said eloquently. 

MacMillan gave him a go-on gesture. 

“Congratulations?” 

“Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Of course,” Harry lied, “but why are you telling me?”

“You’re a Parselmouth.”

“I know.”

MacMillan looked around, then stage-whispered. “Doesn’t that mean you’ll be the next Dark Lord?”

It was all Ron could do to not laugh at the strange tableau they made -- MacMillan, filled with concern, and Harry’s bemused expression. 

“No,” Harry said. “And it’s slander for you to suggest that, isn’t it?” he asked, clearly channeling Malfoy. “You aren’t slandering the Ancient House of Potter, are you?”

MacMillan blanched. “No, I --”

“See that you don’t,” Harry said coldly. “Ron, let’s go. I’m hungry, and if we don’t get to the Great Hall soon enough, Blaise will have eaten all the steak and kidney pie.” 

Harry turned on his heel, and marched off, Ron close behind him. 

“That was wicked!” Rone enthused once they were out of earshot of MacMillan and his flunkies.

“Really? I was worried I overdid it.” 

“Nah, it was great! The whole line about slandering --” Ron affected a stuffy voice “--the Ancient House of Potter was perfect.” 

“Thank goodness. I just wanted him to shut up.”

“Well, you succeeded in that.” 

They walked for a moment.

“Ron?”

“What?”

“The Trifecta..what is that?”

Ron stopped dead in his tracks. “You don’t know what the Trifecta is?”

“No...should I?”

“Er, not really, I guess. We technically learned about it last year in History of Magic, but you were probably asleep. I only know it because Percy drilled it into my head two summers ago. Anyway, it’s kind of complicated. I’ll tell you over lunch.” 

They quickly sat down and helped themselves to lunch. Much to Harry’s joy, there was steak and kidney pie left. Apparently Blaise had gotten distracted by the potatoes at the other end of the table. 

“So,” Harry asked, stabbing a piece of pie. “The Trifecta.” 

Ron nodded. “Alright. You remember the historical kingdoms, right? How Scotland use to be the Kingdom of Caledonia before Britain was unified?” 

“Yeah.”

“So, inside Caledonia, there were clans -- big extended families -- and each clan controlled a small portion of the kingdom. Got it so far?”

“Uh huh.” 

“So, as you can imagine, not all the clans controlled the same amount of territory. Some controlled more, so they had more power. The three biggest covered about half of the kingdom between them -- McGonagall, MacDougal, and MacMillan.”

“Like Professor McGonagall?” 

“Yeah, I think her brother Moray is the current clan head. All of the Trifecta are on good terms with each other, and I’m pretty sure Professor McGonagall gets gifts from the other clan heads -- Lyall MacDougal and Archibald MacMillan -- every year. Her grand-nephew is in Fred and George’s year, and they were saying something about that.

“Anyway, after Britain joined together, the clans lost a lot of their power, but the Trifecta remained as a separate governing body of sorts for Scotland. They don’t carry a lot of political power, really -- only Clan MacMillan has a seat on the Wizengamot -- but when they make a unified decision, people usually listen.” 

“Clan MacMillan’s the only clan with a Wizengamot seat?” Harry asked. “No wonder why Ernie is so stuck up. That kind of sucks.”

“What kind of sucks?” Hermione asked, plopping down on the bench beside them.

“Nothing,” Ron and Harry chorused. Getting Hermione involved in a political conversation was a one way ticket to a five hour lecture. 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Ron said hurriedly. “Say, aren’t you excited for the upcoming Quidditch game?” 

“I guess,” Hermione allowed. “I’m lucky my parents agreed to sign my permission slip. I don’t get why the game has to be away.” 

“It’s because Koldovstoretz is seeded higher than us after preliminary game rankings,” Harry explained. 

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Seeded?”

“Ranked,” Ron cut in. “All the teams are ranked based off historical data on the players as well as first round statistics. Didn’t you read about it in the  _ Prophet _ ?”

Hermione waved a hand airly. “Briefly. Anything important?”

“They have good Chasers, apparently,” Ron said. “They utterly flattened Karakoram.”  

“Their Seeker is good too,” Harry added, “Elena Vasilieva. The only girl on the team.”

Hermione frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” Harry said hastily. “Just thought it was interesting.”

“Hmpff. Well, while you were reading up on the Quidditch news, I was busy researching Koldovstoretz.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s in Russia,” Hermione said. “Their stadium better have weather control spells on it, and it absolutely better not be in Siberia! If it is, I’m going to kill them.”

Ron and Harry laughed. 

Unnoticed by them, Millie Bulstrode almost choked on her lunch. Joking about death and Russians was never something one did lightly.

 


	17. Koldovstoretz

# 

_ Great Hall _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 12 December 1992 _

 

“Students, to your chaperones, please!” Professor Dumbledore shouted over the din. “Portkeys to Koldovstoretz leave in fifteen minutes!” 

Hermione tugged on Ron’s sleeve. “C’mon, we need to go find Professor Selwyn. You can talk about chess later.” 

“See you at the game, Palin,” Ron said. “What, Hermione?”

“We need to get with our chaperones,” Hermione repeated. “Also, where’s Harry?”

“He went in earlier with the rest of the Quidditch team -- didn’t he tell you that?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, he did.” Ron craned his neck. “Where’s Professor Selwyn?”

“I’m too short to see. Why don’t you look? You’re the tall one.”

Ron grinned. “I am looking, shortie -- there she is. C’mon, this way.” 

“Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley are here,” Professor Selwyn muttered to herself, checking off names on her clipboard. “So we’re just waiting on Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Crabbe, and Mr. Goyle. Ah, there they are.”

“Great,” Ron said. “What was the chance of the three nincompoops not showing up?”

“Minimal. Practically the entire school is going.  _ I’m _ going, and I don’t even like Quidditch.”

“Right.” 

“Second year Slytherins!” Professor Selwyn called. “Over here, please. Professor Dumbledore has asked me to go over the ground rules for you again, and remind everyone that while the Quidditch stadium has some climate control spells on it, you will still need to be dressed for winter weather. Is everyone clear on that?”

Everyone nodded, and Hermione patted her purse. It’d been a birthday present from her

parents, and contained an expansion charm that made it the size of a small duffle bag. 

“We’ll be arriving at Koldovstoretz at 11:37am local time. Koldovstoretz generously offered to host the students of Hogwarts for supper. If the match hasn’t concluded by suppertime, food will be served in the stands, and if the match concludes before suppertime, we will be eating inside their school. I expect everyone to be on their best behavior. You’re not only representing yourself and your families, but Hogwarts itself. Any bad decisions will reflect poorly on us. If, for any reason, you need to leave the group, you must inform me, I must approve it, and you must stick with a buddy. Does everyone understand?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good. I’m sure none of you want to disappoint Professor Snape with your behavior.” 

Hermione cast a look sideways at Ron. Professor Snape had given the entire House a long speech the night before on his expectations for their behavior, as well as the consequences of misbehaving. Apparently the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff first year Potions class had left several cauldrons full of mysterious gloop, and any offenders would be forced to scrub them by hand. Hermione had zero intentions of being one of  _ those _ individuals -- she was a mature, decorous person, unlike some  _ other _ people she could think of. 

Hermione cast a dirty look at Pansy, Tracey, and Daphne. The terrible trio was gossiping and not bothering to pay attention to a single word that Professor Selwyn was saying. Hermione smirked. With any luck, they’d end up in detention, and Pansy would ruin the stupid manicure she’d been bragging about all week. 

“Two minutes before Portkey departure,” Professor Selwyn said. “Second year Slytherins, please grab onto the Portkey.” 

They clustered around the long rope, everyone grabbing onto one of the built-in handles. Hermione was sandwiched between Ron and Millie. 

“I’ve never ridden one of these before,” Hermione said nervously.

“It’s not so bad,” Millie said. “Not nearly as bad as Side-Along.” 

Well. This thing she didn’t know about was a lot better than some other thing she knew nothing about. How informative. Hermione made a mental note to ask Lily or Millie about Side-Along later. It wouldn’t do to ask now and have Pansy and her sidekicks tease her for her lack of knowledge. 

“One minute until departure.” 

Hermione started counting down the seconds. Thirty. Twenty. Ten. Five. Three. Two. One. 

Something hooked behind her navel and she was whisked off her feet in a whirlwind of color and sound, her classmates beside her. Her hand felt like it’d been glued to the rope, and Hermione could only hope it came unattached when they arrived. It’d be incredibly awkward, otherwise. 

Just as suddenly as it started, they came to an abrupt halt. Hermione’s knees buckled underneath her, and much to her relief, she managed to stay upright. 

“My group, move out of the way so the next group has space to arrive,” Professor Selwyn said, chivvying them towards the door. 

Hermione followed, half-paying attention to her professor’s words, half-admiring the building around her. The room they’d arrived in had been relatively small, circular, and topped with one of the lovely onion shaped domes Hermione had seen in pictures of old Russian cathedrals. The hallway beyond had the look of cobblestones, but lacked the roughness of them. Several archways led off it, presumably leading to the rest of the building. 

A boy stood at the end of the hallway, waiting for them. He wore what Hermione assumed was the uniform of Koldovstoretz -- a white collared shirt tucked into dark gray trousers with a lighter gray jacket over. A crimson tie completed the ensemble, along with a black cloak with crimson piping draped over the boy’s arm. 

“Welcome to Koldovstoretz,” he said, a slight Russian accent adding a lilt to his words. “I am Alexei Petrov, please follow me.” 

He turned on his heel, and led them through a series of corridors and down a short staircase. Large portraits hung on the walls, and stone columns twisted upwards to seamlessly join the ceiling. The entire castle was far warmer than Hermione had expected, but, then again, the Russians had access to the same Warming charms as everyone else.

After a couple of minutes of walking, they stopped in an atrium. 

“You may wish to put your cloaks on,” Alexei said, tossing his cloak over his shoulders. “The Quidditch stadium is weather-proof, but the walk there is not.” 

Hermione wrapped her Slytherin scarf around her face before pulling up the hood of her cloak. Ron followed suit, and moments later they exited the atrium. 

In a word, it was cold. The arches along the ends of the causeway did little to block the wind as it raced across the snow-covered grounds. Hermione scrutinized the angle of the sun in the sky, then sighed. Of course they had to be in northern Russia. The Russians couldn’t have put their school somewhere reasonable, like St. Petersburg, where it was warm. 

At long last, they reached the end of the causeway and headed down a flight of stone steps towards the biggest Quidditch stadium Hermione had ever seen -- admittedly, she’d only seen Hogwarts’ stadium, but Koldovstoretz’ was at least double the size. Red, black, and silver banners flew against the winter sky as they filed into their seats. Next to her, Ron sucked in a breath. 

“What?”

“Don’t look right away, but you remember the high seats with the red canopy over them we saw walking in.”

“Yeah. Why?”  
“The tsar and tsarina -- Sergei Dolohov and his wife, Madelaine -- are there, along with several of the most important political officials in Russia. The Morozovs, the Petrovs… you name it, and they’re probably there.”

“Petrov… like the boy who walked us over?”

“Exactly. The Petrovs haven’t married into the Dolohov dynasty yet, but it’s only a matter of time. The Morozovs have, though, and one of them is playing today. Ivan Morozov, a Chaser if I’m remembering correctly, and a good one at that.” 

“The tsarevich doesn’t play?”

Ron shook his head. “No. Too dangerous, and far too easy for an ‘accident’ to occur.” 

Hermione frowned. “Harry’s allowed to play.”

“Harry isn’t the heir to an empire.” 

Hermione conceded the point with a nod, and pulled her cloak tighter around herself. It was warmer inside the stadium, but it was still windy enough for Hermione to be slightly chilled. She rummaged around in her bag for a moment before finding a small jar and filling it with bluebell flames. Hermione wrapped her hands around it, grateful for the warmth, and watched as the rest of the Hogwarts students filed in. Several of them had brought large banners, and one of the Gryffindor second years -- Finnegan, perhaps -- had drawn a lion onto a bed sheet that flashed red and gold. 

“ Dobro pozhalovat!” boomed a voice. “Welcome to Koldovstoretz for the second round of the International Scholastic Quidditch tournament. Today’s match features our home team against Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!” 

Cheers filled the air. 

“Let’s introduce our teams. On our visiting team we have Flint! Johnson! Davies! Weasley! Weasley! Wood! Aaaaaand Potter!” 

Team Hogwarts circled the Pitch in perfect unison. 

“From Koldovstoretz, I am proud to present Morozov! Demidov! Orlov! Fedin! Lenin! Isenbaev! Aaaaaaand Vasilieva!” 

The Russian team soared out of a gap in the stands, looking fierce in their scarlet robes. 

“The teams are in the starting position...the Quaffle has been released! The Bludgers are in play! The Snitch is live! Let the game begin!”

The crowd roared its approval. 

“Orlov takes possession of the Quaffle. Passes to Demidov. Back to Orlov...intercepted by Flint! Hogwarts takes control, Flint passes to Davies…” 

Hermione turned her attention towards the top box. The tsar and tsarina had to be the two sitting on either side of the boy in the Koldovstoretz uniform. As for the others, Hermione had absolutely no idea who was who. Not for the first time, Hermione wished wizards had computers. It’d be so much easier to find information! 

“Johnson scores! Hogwarts, 40, Koldovstoretz, 50!” 

Hermione frowned as she turned her attention back to the game. “They’re beating us?”

“At the moment, yeah,” Ron said. “They’ve got a good team. Doesn’t help that they have at least triple the student population, so there are people to pull from.” 

“Do you think we’ll win?” 

Ron shrugged. “Dunno. I hope so. A lot of it depends on how the Seekers do. Harry’s good, but so’s Vasileva. Koldovstoretz also has good Chasers, although our Keeper is definitely better. If Fred and George step up their game, they’ll be able to disrupt their Chaser and keep Fedin and Lenin from disrupting ours. Oh, look, there goes Vasilieva,” Ron added suddenly, leaning forward in his seat. “I bet she’s feinting. Harry is going after her…I wonder what he’s playing at.” 

“Maybe he’s trying to make her underestimate him.”

“Maybe.” Ron sounded unsure. 

“Orlov passes to Morozov, Morozov streaks down the Pitch, dodging a Bludger...he shoots...and blocked by Wood!” the announcer shouted. “Johnson in possession, both Seekers pulling out of a dive. Nice feint by Vasilieva, but Potter didn’t fall for it, and he’s still close behind her. Johnson lobs the Quaffle off to Davies, Davies to Flint, Flint back to Davies. Demidov goes in for the interception -- foiled by a Bludger! -- Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, she shoots...she scores, tieing up the score! Hogwarts, 90, Koldovstoretz, 90.”

Hermione cast a look sideways at Ron. “How much longer do you think this will go on?”

“Dunno. Depends on when they catch the Snitch.”

“It’s been so long already,” Hermione complained.

“It’s barely been an hour!” 

“That’s a long time.” 

Ron grinned. “The longest game of Quidditch lasted three months. You think they’d let us

skip class?”

Hermione shuddered. “No.” 

“You’re no fun.”

“Hmph.” 

Hermione turned her attention back to the game. Harry was circling the Pitch while Vasilieva was scanning in a zigzag pattern. 

“Demidov passes to Morozov, Morozov heading for the goal posts, neatly avoids a Bludger, he shoots...and scores! Koldovstoretz, 110, Hogwarts, 90.” 

“Poo, they’re beating us.”

“I thought you didn’t like Quidditch.”

Hermione scowled. “I don’t like losing.”

“Uh huh.”

“My hate of losing supersedes my  _ dislike _ of Quidditch.”

“Of course it does.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Duh. Try to keep up,  _ Ronald _ .” She watched happily as Flint scored two goals. Then, Johnson got hit in the face with a Bludger and almost fell off her broom.

Lily poked Hermione in the back. “Do you think Johnson is okay?”

“I don't know. They called a time out.”

Hermione squinted at the Hogwarts team down on the Pitch. “It looks like they’re making a substitution. Who are they putting in?”

Ron shrugged. “Pucey or Moran, most likely. Spinnet’s playing style doesn’t work well with Flint.” 

The Hogwarts huddle broke apart, with Hooch escorting Johnson over to the mediwizard’s station. 

“And the teams are back in the air!” the announcer boomed. “Hogwarts substitutes Aoife Moran in for Angelina Johnson. The Quaffle is back in play, and the Bludgers have been re-released.” 

“Ron, is Moran any good?” Hermione asked. 

“Far as I know. I think she almost beat out Johnson in tryouts. Her brother -- Aedan -- is pretty good too. He’s the reserve keeper, although he’s not as good as Wood. But, then again, Wood will probably go pro, so there’s that.” 

They returned their attention to the game. Moran seemed to be working well with the other Chasers, but then again, what did Hermione know about Quidditch. Finally, at long last, Harry dove. 

“Potter going into a dive...is this another feint or has he seen the Snitch? Vasilieva is hot on his tail and gaining ground...Potter finding acceleration somewhere and pulling away...and he’s caught it! Hogwarts wins, 300 - 210!”  

* * *

 

_ Koldovstoretz _

_ Northern Russia _

_ 12 December 1992 _

 

Hermione fluffed her curls in the washroom mirror before straightening her robes. The post-game feast had been absolutely sumptuous, and the Koldovstoretz students had been surprisingly gracious hosts, especially given that they’d lost the game. 

Satisfied with her appearance, Hermione exited the washroom and wandered down the hallway. The architecture really was stunning, and Hermione couldn’t help but harbour the tiniest wish that she could have gone to school there. 

“Darya!” shouted a voice from behind her. “Darya!”

Hermione keep walking. 

“Darya! Darya Morozova!” Feet clattered closer, then a hand settled on her shoulder. 

Hermione turned. 

“Dar -- you are not Darya.” 

Hermione faced the other girl. “No, I’m not.”

The girl flushed a dull pink. “I am so sorry. You look just like her, from the back.”

“It’s fine.”

“Sorry,” the girl muttered again before hurrying off. 

Hermione shrugged before continuing on her way back to the Feast Hall, half-way wondering who Darya Morozova was. Maybe she was one of the Morozovs who’d married in with the Dolohovs. 

Hermione dismissed the thought. It wasn’t important, especially when there were desserts still on the table.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the second round of Quidditch!


	18. Gifts and Relevations

# 

 

_ Second Year Slytherin Boys’ Dormitory _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 25 December 1992 _

 

Harry stretched and yawned, then burrowed deeper under his blankets. It was a bit chilly in the dorm, and all he wanted to do was cozy up in his bed and have a nice lie-in. Burying his face in the pillow, Harry decided he’d sleep for a bit, then maybe head down to the Chamber to have a nice chat with Tilly the basilisk. It’d been awhile since he’d talked to her, and it’d be terribly rude to leave her alone on Yule. 

Yule. 

Harry sat bolt upright. It was  _ Yule _ . “Ron!” he shouted, tripping over his blankets as he pulled on a dressing gown. “Ron, wake up!”

“Whazzat?” 

“Wake up! It’s Yule!”

Ron yawned. “Huh?”

Harry pulled open his friend’s curtains and bounced on the bed in the most annoying manner possible. “It’s Yule! We have presents!”

Ron was suddenly awake. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You, you lazy lout. C’mon!” 

Ron rolled out of bed and hastily pulled on a robe. “To the common room, right?”

Harry nodded. Unlike last year, a decent portion of the House had decided to stay over the holiday. In a fit of ironic festivity, Professor Snape had provided a large fir tree in the common room for them to decorate as they wished. 

“D’you think Hermione’s up yet?” Ron asked.

“Probably. She probably couldn’t wait to read all her new books.” 

Much to Harry’s surprise, Hermione was waiting for them in the common room without a book. The Umbridge and the Warrington siblings were there as well, and already opening gifts. 

“About time you guys woke up!” Hermione exclaimed. “I’ve been waiting for ages!” 

“It’s not like we made a plan,” Harry muttered. 

“Oh, shush, just go get your presents already.” 

Ron and Harry did, and Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that he had a large stack of gifts.  

“Alright,” Ron said. “Present opening free-for-all.”

Harry and Hermione nodded, and immediately set to work. There was a small envelope from the Dursleys, which Harry opened first to get the disappointment over with early. Inside was a toothpick. Harry chuckled. 

“What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing, just my relatives being dumb.”

Harry quickly opened the rest of his gifts. Hagrid had sent a tin of

treacle fudge, which was incredibly kind given that Harry hadn’t talked to the man since spring.  Hermione’s gift was, shockingly, a book called  _ Curses and Countercurses _ . Harry studied the cover thoughtfully. 

‘ _ Bewitch your friends and befuddle your enemies with the latest revenges, _ ’ the cover read  _ ‘Hair loss, Jelly-legs, and much much more!’ _

Harry grinned. “Hey, Ron, check this out,” he said, waving the book enthusiastically. “What do you think Malfoy will think of the hair-loss curse?” 

Ron didn’t respond. 

“Ron?” Harry looked over to where Ron sat, gaping at his gift. “A signed copy of  _ Flying _

_ with the Cannons _ and Cannons tickets?” Ron finally managed. 

“Yeah.”

Ron’s eyes grew wider. “How?” 

“It’s a funny story, actually,” Harry said, setting aside Ron’s gift to open later, “I sent Gordon Horton an owl asking if he’d sign the book, y’know, since you play Keeper and so does he, and he was more than happy to do it. He asked me a bit about you so he could write a nice note, and when I told him how big of a fan you were he sent me free tickets to the game they have over Ostara break. Dunno how much of that is Boy-Who-Lived stuff or him being a nice  bloke, but I figured you’d be excited.” 

“Excited? I can’t believe it!” 

Harry beamed. “I knew you’d like it!.”

“Have you opened my gift yet?”  
“No. Why?”

“Dunno, it seems kind of lame, now.” 

“I’m sure it’s great,” Harry said, eagerly tearing away at the paper. Inside were several  boxes of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.

“Now, you’ve got to be careful with these ones,” Ron said, pointing to the ones labeled ‘special 1992 edition’. “Those ones are all nasty flavors...I figured it be good for a prank.”

Harry grinned. “This is amazing! How many do you think I can get Crabbe and Goyle to  eat before the realize the whole lot is bad? Also, has Hermione been paying attention?”

“Yes, I have, and no I won’t eat any of those jelly beans!”

Harry shot Ron a rueful look. “A missed opportunity. Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find  someone else to eat one...does Professor Snape like Bertie Bott’s?”

* * *

 

_ Chamber of Secrets  _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 25 December 1992 _

 

“ _ And then, _ ” Harry enthusiastically told Tilly, “ _ Professor Snape said that no, he didn’t care much for Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, and that perhaps Ron and I would have more success with lesser mortals.” _

Behind him, Ron and Hermione shifted uncomfortably. Harry had insisted they’d come along, and now they were stuck in a gloomy chamber while Harry hissed incomprehensibly at a statue. 

_ “A wise man, this Professor Snape,”  _ Tilly responded.  _ “He is one of Salazar’s own, yes? _ ” 

_ “Yes, he is. He’s the Head of Slytherin House, actually.” _

_ “And is he a Speaker?” _

_ “Not to my knowledge.”  _

_ “So you are the only one of Salazar’s line in the school?”  _

Harry hesitated for a moment. To his knowledge, he wasn’t descended from Salazar

Slytherin, but one could never be completely certain about the muggleborn side of things. _“I believe so,”_ Harry hissed. _“My mother’s exact lineage is unknown, so I cannot say for sure, but I must have some connection with the esteemed Founder, else how would I be able to speak this noble tongue.”_

_ “You hail from the land called Caledonia?” _

_ “No, England.” _

_ “There are no families from your homeland that carry the language of serpents, _ ” Tilly mused.  _ “You must carry noble Salazar’s blood in your veins.”  _

_ “Yes, of course,”  _ Harry said quickly.  _ “I must go now to the Yuletide feast. It was nice to speak with you.” _

_ “And I with you. Speaker, before we part ways, I must ask you a question.” _

_“Yes?”_ _  
__“When will you let me roam the halls, as the Founder wished?”_

Harry swallowed.  _ “Some other time.” _

_ “Hmmph. I grow restless. I cannot idle forever.” _

_ “I know. I won’t leave you to languish.”  _

_ “See that you do not.” _

_ “Bye, Tilly.” _

_ “Farewell, Heir.” _ Tilly slithered deeper into the statue until Harry could no longer here her. 

“Alright,” Harry said, turning to face Ron and Hermione, “You guys ready to head up to the feast?”

Hermione shuddered. “Yes, although I don’t know that I have much appetite.”

“Why?”

“Listening to you hiss to some giant snake isn’t exactly fun.”

“Oh yeah. Sometimes I forget you guys can’t understand what I’m saying.”

Ron looked at him in disbelief. “Really.”

“Yeah, it just sounds like English to me.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look. “Weird.” 

“C’mon, let’s go,” Ron said. “I’m hungry.”

“What did the snake want anyways?” Hermione asked as they walked towards the hidden staircase. 

“Oh, just the usual ramblings about Slytherin, and asking when I’ll let her out of the statue,” Harry said casually.

“What!?”

* * *

 

_ Slytherin Common Room _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 26 December 1992 _

 

Hermione frowned at her parchment then double checked her notes. With her holiday homework finished and Yule festivities out of the way, she finally had time to work more on her Lockhart timeline, and things just weren’t adding up. 

“Hey, Harry, do you have a moment?”

Harry looked up from the game of Exploding Snap he was playing with Ron, Hector Umbridge, and Cassius Warrington. “Er, not really, I’m kind of busy.” 

“That’s fine -- just come over here when you have a moment. You too, Ron.”

“What’s going on?” Ron asked, curiosity piqued. 

“Nothing much. I’m just working on my timeline, and it’s not quite working out.”

“Timeline?” Warrington asked. 

“Of Professor Lockhart,” Hermione clarified. 

“Why?”

“Something’s obviously fishy about him -- I mean, he didn’t even cast a basic Freezing Charm on the first day of class -- I know you and Hector wouldn’t know anything about that --”

“We’ve heard through the grapevine,” Umbridge said, frowning, “my sister Cecily is in the first year class and she says it’s a load of rubbish. Apparently Lockhart tried to cast sparks out of his wand and ended up dropping it instead.” 

Warrington looked shocked. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish.”

“Merlin, I’m glad I missed out on having him as a teacher.” 

“I wish we were as lucky,” Harry muttered. “He insists we act out the scenes from his books -- like me playing the Wagga Wagga Werewolf is going teach us anything!” 

“It’s really stupid,” Ron chimed in. “Percy taught me more defense spells over the summer hols than Lockhart has this entire semester.” 

“So, Granger,” Warrington prompted. “Your timeline?”

Hermione studied her parchment again. “Things just aren’t adding up. Take here, for example,” she said, jabbing her quill at the middle of the timeline, “in  _ Holidays with Hags _ , he states he was trekking through Azerbaijan on 20 June 1986 to track down a particularly pugnacious clan of hags. But, if you go to his next book,  _ Marauding with Monsters _ , he claims he was interviewing a small pub owner in the Australian outback on 21 June 1986.”

“You know Portkeys are a thing, right?” Ron asked.

“Yes, I know, we used them just a couple weeks ago. But, if you continue reading in  _ Holidays with Hags _ \--” Hermione quickly flipped to the correct page “--here, on page 125, he says he spent all day navigating a complex series of tunnels deep under the Palace of Shirvanshahs to find the hags who had kidnapped some of the local children. There’s no way he could have been in Azerbaijan and Australia at the same time!” 

Harry frowned. “Are you sure? It could just be a typo.” 

“It’s happened more than once, and I even managed to cross-reference this one. In chapter nineteen of  _ Wanderings with Werewolves _ , Lockhart says he defeated the Wagga Wagga Werewolf which terrorized the small town of Wagga Wagga, a very isolated wizarding village in the depths of the Shikahogh State Reserve forest in Armenia. Given the town’s small population and isolation from the rest of the Armenian wizarding community, it was barely mentioned in the news. The werewolf, however, was newsworthy.”

“Okay, so how is that important?”

“The newspaper and Lockhart have different dates for the defeat of the werewolf --

there’s a tiny two sentence article in one of the old issues of the  _ Daily Prophet _ which says that a wild werewolf was killed in Wagga Wagga, Armenia by an unknown wizard. Wouldn’t Lockhart have made the news?”

“Sure, but he was mentioned later, right?”

“No. Only in his book.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. Suspicious, right?”

“Very,” Harry agreed. 

“How many inconsistencies have you found?” Ron asked.

“Seven, and I’m sure there’s more.”

“So what do we do?” Harry asked. “We can’t let that idiot keep teaching.”

“You could bring it to the  _ Prophet _ ,” Umbridge suggested. “My mum was roommates with Rita Skeeter during Hogwarts. I’m sure she could pull some strings.” 

“That’s not a bad idea...only, I want to make sure we’re absolutely certain before we do anything about it,” Hermione said. “I’m ninety-nine percent certain I’m correct, but it’d be terribly awkward if I was wrong.”

“Bring it to Snape,” said Warrington after a pause. “You already know he doesn’t like Lockhart -- he organized all those DADA sessions for you lot. He’s also brilliant with just about everything.”

“Do you think he’d be in his office?”

“Probably.” 

“Okay. I’ll head over there, then.”

The boys returned to their Exploding Snap game with Hermione bundled all her parchments and books into her bag. Heaving the bag onto her shoulder, she left the common room, small explosions sounding behind her. When she reached Professor Snape’s office door, she knocked thrice, then waited in silence. After what seemed like an age, the door opened to reveal the pointed face of the Potions master. 

“Miss Granger. What brings you here?” 

Hermione swallowed. “I’m not sure there’s a way to say this tactfully, sir.”

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s about one of the other professors.”

Professor Snape made a go on gesture. 

“Professor Lockhart, sir,” Hermione blurted. “I’m pretty sure he’s a fraud.” 

“Explain.” 

“I made a timeline,” Hermione started, rooting around in her bag for it, “and things just aren’t adding up.” 

Professor Snape raised one arched eyebrow. “Indeed. It would be more prudent to examine this timeline in my office, perhaps, rather than in the middle of the corridor.” 

“Er, right, sir.” 

Professor Snape stepped aside, and Hermione entered his office. The light had an odd, greenish color to it, and the perimeter between the wall and the ceiling was lined with jars of strange things suspended in different color liquids. 

“Pull up a chair, and explain to me what you have divined thus far.”

Hermione rolled out the parchment, weighing down the corners with the Lockhart books so it wouldn’t unfurl. “Alright, this is what I’ve found out…” 

She explained how she’d started by making timelines out of each one of Lockhart’s books before cross-referencing them with each other and forming one master timeline. Then, she’d cross-referenced that master timeline with old  _ Daily Prophet  _ articles she’d found in the library. The more she explained, the deeper Professor Snape’s frown grew. 

“Miss Granger...you have produced more than adequate work here,” Professor Snape said when she was finally done talking. 

Hermione straightened in her chair. Coming from Professor Snape, that was high praise. 

“Do you mind if I make a copy?”

Hermione’s jaw practically dropped to the floor before she quickly snapped it shut. “Of course not, sir.”

Professor Snape flicked his wand, and the roll of parchment immediately duplicated itself.  “Keep your original, Miss Granger, and I will take the copy,” he instructed. “I have several contacts who may find it interesting, and I would also like to take a look into the matter myself. Keep this to yourself for now, however. I would never speak ill of my colleagues, of course --” a wry expression twisted his lips for the briefest of moments, “-- but despite his seeming incompetence and fraudulent claims, Professor Lockhart may have hidden skills. Speak to no one about this, and if the situation changes drastically, I will notify you.”

Hermione all but beamed. “Thanks, Professor!”

“You are dismissed.”

Hermione headed out of the office, flush with victory. Professor Snape had taken her seriously,  _ and _ he’d talked to her like she was a grown-up. Grinning ear to ear, Hermione walked back to the common room. Dedication and research skills really did pay off. 

In his office, Severus Snape rubbed his temples. He could feel a headache coming on, which was in no small part due to the information Miss Granger had given him. It was disturbing, to say the least, and spoke of an extensive use of Memory Charms if Granger’s information was correct -- and Severus had no doubts that it was. Despite her tender years, Granger had finely honed research and analytical skills, something that was quite a relief given the rest of the class’s tendency for dunderheadedness. 

Sighing, Severus summoned a quill and parchment. He had several letters to write; one to Lucius Malfoy, inquiring about Lockhart’s reputation in high society, and another to an old colleague of his that owed him a favor and specialized in private investigation.

* * *

 

_ Zamok Holodnogo Ognja _

_ Eastern Russia _

_ 27 December 1992 _

 

“Come on, Millicent,” cousin Darya whined in Russian. “Why won’t you play with Ekaterina and I? Diana said she’d play.”

Millie slipped a bookmark into her book. “Because I’ve already told you ten times that I don’t want to play dolls.”

“But why?”

“Because I don’t.”

Darya pouted. “That’s not a reason.” 

“Yes, it is.”

“No it isn’t.” 

“It’s not even like you’re too old! We’re the same age!” 

“Well, I don’t like dolls.”

“They aren’t dolls! They’re figurines!”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” 

Millie rolled her eyes. Darya was far to use to getting what she wanted. 

“Why don’t you get Stefan to play with you?” she asked. 

Darya made a face. “ _ He’s  _ going to play  _ Quidditch _ .”

Millie perked up. “Quidditch? Where? When?”

“Outside with Viktor and Ivan, probably around now. Why?”

“I’m going.”

“What!? You play Quidditch?”  
“Of course I do!” With that, Millie made her escape, practically running down the castle hallways. Zamok Holodnogo Ognja was about as ostentatious as one would expect the seat of the ruling family of Russia to be. Intricate tapestries adorned the walls while priceless artifacts were tucked away in niches. The place reeked of power, and while this was Millie’s fourth time visiting, she still got lost on occasion.  

Footsteps clattered up ahead, and Millie hurried towards them. It was Viktor, Ivan, Stefan, Eduard and Theo, all with brooms slung over their shoulders. 

“Wait up!” Mille called.

The group slowed to a halt. “What do you want?” Ivan asked.

“Can I join you?”

Viktor shrugged “Sure. We need another to make the teams even.”

“There’s brooms out by the Pitch,” Eduard said helpfully. 

“So,” Ivan asked. “What position do you play?”

“Beater,” Millie replied. “I’m a reserve player on the Slytherin House team.” 

“Are you any good?”

“I made it past the first round of team selections for the Hogwarts school team,” Millie said. “And you know how good they are. The Slytherin team has also been undefeated in the Hogwarts Quidditch League for the past eight years.” 

Ivan held up a placating hand. “I was just asking, not accusing you of anything.” 

Millie smirked. “You’re just annoyed that Hogwarts beat Koldovstoretz.”

Ivan huffed. “Am not.”

Viktor chuckled. “You definitely are, coz. As for me, I am hoping Hogwarts beats Tang Taizong. I would love to see your face after Durmstrang flattens Hogwarts.” 

Millie and Theo scowled in unison, and they continued to bicker all the way out to the Pitch. The Dolohovs, it turned out, had quite a fine selection of brooms, including several Nimbus 1999s that were still in excellent condition. They spent several hours scrimmaging -- Viktor and Ivan really were phenomenal players -- before trooping back up to the castle. 

“You play well,” Viktor commented as they headed through the door. “Especially for a second year.”

Millie opened her mouth to thank him, then started suddenly. Madeleine Delacour Dolohova, mother to Eduard and tsarina of Russia, was framed in the hallway. “Did you all enjoy your Quidditch game?”

Millie nodded mutely while the boys mumbled affirmatively. 

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I am glad to hear that. Millicent, darling, I was wondering if I could speak to you for a moment about your good friend, Miss Hermione Granger…” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> For those of you who are interest… zamok holodnogo ognja = Coldfire Castle (Russian isn’t one of my languages, so if there’s any native Russian speakers who have a better translation, let me know in the reviews.
> 
> Also, a writing update! I’ve finished the first drafts of the final chapters of this fic. There’s 24 chapters total and about 62k total words. Work has been started on volume three of the series :)


	19. Lord Prince

# 

_ Office Space of Amelia Bones _

_ Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, London _

_ 4 January 1993 _

 

Amelia half-heartedly poked at her salad as she read the latest missive from Lord Moon. The latest Wizengamot session had been scheduled the same day as the anniversary of the Bones Massacre, and Amelia had spent the day standing vigil with her niece rather than playing politics. 

Amelia swallowed hard. It had been thirteen years ago. The bloodbath at Whitcomb Hall had claimed the lives of Amelia’s father and mother, her two brothers, and her sister-in-law.  

She closed her eyes, and time seemed to stand still as her mind drifted back to a cold December day thirteen years ago…

_ It’d been several days after Yule when Amelia arrived at Whitcomb Hall, the ancestral seat of House Bones, and home to her parents, Theresa and Hector. Her elder brother, Edgar, had been out of the country during Yule, as he’d celebrated the holiday with his fiancée’s family in Spain. Amelia’s younger brother, Adam, was already married, and arrived at the Hall with his wife, Katherine, and their daughter Susan who was only a couple months old.  _

_ Despite the dangerous times and the ominous threat of the rising Dark Lord, the family gathering had started well enough. Whitcomb Hall had staunch protections erected around it, and although House Bones was only pureblood by the three-generations rule, their Traditionalist-leaning stance in the Wizengamot had granted them some small extra measure of protection. Amelia had been thrilled to see her brothers, and Susan was adorableness personified with her chubby cheeks and tufts of strawberry blonde hair. _

_ The evening had started to turn sour, however, by the time her father had opened the second bottle of aged scotch. The conversation had turned from politics to families, and, of course, why Amelia wasn’t married or dating anyone of the right sort.  _

_ “It’s your duty,” her father had said, “to find a nice wizard, to marry, to have children and continue on the family line.”  _

_ Amelia had disagreed -- not with the marriage part, or the children part -- she was fine with that. It was the wizard part that bothered her. Her father had been convinced that she just hadn’t met the right man yet despite Amelia’s attempts to explain that no, she wasn’t interested, and no, it was not a rebellious phase, she was a grown witch, Merlin damn it!  _

_ The argument escalated until the two were shouting at each other, causing Susan to cry.  _

_ The baby was colicky by nature and prone to tears after eating, and the argument had added another component to little Susan’s distressed. Eager to get out of the house, Amelia had offered to walk Susan for a bit in hopes that the night air would soothe her.  _

_ As they wandered the expansive grounds, Susan’s cries slowly turned to hiccups, then soft snores. Amelia walked a while longer to ensure the infant was solidly asleep before heading back to Whitcomb Hall.  _

_ Almost immediately, she had known something was wrong. Cracks of spellfire filled the air, and Amelia had rapidly drawn her wand, brandishing it in one hand while the other held Susan. She’d hurried forward, desperate to do something, anything, when the Dark Mark flared over the hall, followed by pops of disapparition. Carefully, ever so carefully, Amelia had made her way into her family’s home, and under the sickly green light of the Dark Mark, she’d found the bodies of her parents, brothers, and sister-in-law… _

A knock sounded on her office door, jolting Amelia out of her thoughts. She quickly swiped a finger across her eye, wiping away a stray tear, before taking a moment to compose herself. 

“Come in.” 

The door opened to reveal August Moon, and Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. Dealing with most of the bureaucratic idiots in her department was a struggle, but August was neither an idiot nor a member of the DMLE. 

“I just read your letter,” Amelia said, gesturing towards the scroll of parchment. “What brings you here?” 

“Speculations I didn’t wish to commit to parchment,” August answered, drawing his wand. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.”

Several silencing spells and wards later, August settled into the chair across from Amelia’s desk. 

“I’ve heard rumors of a most unsavory nature,” he began, “about Lord Gaunt. But first, I must speak to other questions at hand, namely two factors that have the potential to change the current political calculus.” 

“Oh?” 

“I have it on good authority that Erasmus Prince is on his deathbed. His heir will soon take over his seat. I would imagine he would be a bit more forceful than Erasmus, hm?” 

Amelia snorted delicately. “Indeed. And he should be supportive of our position as well, which is a definite positive in my book. What’s the second factor?”

“Charles Weasley has officially abdicated the title of Lord Gryffindor. William Weasley holds both the Gryffindor and Weasley seats for now, giving him more voting power, and Percival Weasley still holds the Prewett seat.”

Amelia closed her eyes for a moment in an effort to visualize genealogy charts. “Who is next in line for the Gryffindor seat?” 

“George, then Frederick, although I have sources that indicate that neither of them are

likely to take it. They apparently inherited Charles’ dislike for all things politics, and, according to school records, lack the ambition necessary to thrive in a political environment.” 

“So Ronald would likely be the next Lord Gryffindor?”  
“Yes, although he won’t be able to officially claim the seat until he’s seventeen, of course.” 

“Naturally.”

“You can imagine, of course, how this will affect the Wizengamot. House Weasley will be in full force for the first time in a decade, and House Potter will be represented once more. Neville Longbottom will become lord in his own right, cementing them as Neutral-Traditionalist rather than Neutral-Traditionalist with a strong Traditionalist lean, as Augusta has. Our bloc will be granted further votes, which may further increase due to the voice of the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Amelia frowned. “Do you truly believe that we will have more votes on our side merely due to the presence of Harry Potter? Are the lords and ladies of the Wizengamot really that sheep-like?”

August tapped a finger thoughtfully against his jaw. “I don’t know for certain. When he speaks, people will surely listen, which is a definitive benefit. Whether they believe and follow him will be another matter entirely and depend on the current political climate.” 

“What exactly do you mean?” Amelia asked, mind spinning. She had a niggling feeling she knew precisely what August was saying, and hoped she was wrong. 

August shrugged elegantly. “Harry Potter saved Wizarding Britain once. By the time he comes of age, he may need to save it again. If Lord Gaunt’s agenda goes where I think it will, we may be in a dark place in five years.” 

“Uh huh.”

August leaned forward slightly. “Tell me, Amelia, what sort of business do you think Lord Gaunt has, setting up summer camps geared towards muggle-raised students?”

* * *

 

_ Office of Albus Dumbledore _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 4 January 1993 _

 

Albus examined the letter again. It was mildly concerning, at best, and at worst a threat to life as he knew it. The power balance in the Wizengamot was shifting for the time being towards the Progressive end of things, and while that was beneficial to Albus’ agenda, he had the sinking feeling it wouldn’t stay that way for long...especially where Lord Gaunt was involved. 

Carrying the votes of the Gaunt, Peverell, and Slytherin seats, Thomas Gaunt was one of the most influential members of the Wizengamot. Between the eight Blood Purist houses and the fourteen Traditionalist houses, nearly half the Wizengamot was politically aligned with Gaunt, and that didn’t include the Neutral-Traditionalists such as the Lords Selwyn and Moon who had been siding with Gaunt’s proposals as of late. Furthermore, with the Lestrange, Travers, and Black seats currently inactive due to the incarceration of their respective lords, Albus couldn’t help but feel that Gaunt would endeavor to gain control of those seats, especially given the shaky legal proceedings that landed Edwin Travers and Sirius Black in Azkaban. 

Albus swallowed, then shook his head to clear it. There was no use dwelling on the past, especially when there were elections coming up in the House of Commons. As Chief Warlock, Albus moderated debates in the House of Commons, and had a vested interest in seeing more Progressives in the House of Commons and the Wizengamot as a whole. England boasted two Progressive incumbents -- Benedict Davis of East Midlands, and Anne Kaltwasser of Yorkshire and the Humber, but the rest of the English incumbents were Neutral-Traditionalist or Traditionalist. The Northern Irish and the Welsh had a similar mix, although there were several Modernists present as well. Scotland remained staunchly Neutral-Traditionalist and Traditionalist, much to Albus’ displeasure.

Despite living in Scotland for over fifty years and working with several of the clansmen and women, Albus still didn’t quite understand the quiet power the clans wielded. Most Scottish witches and wizards were related to one of the ten or so clans in some way or another, and it gave them an odd sort of unity that separated them from the rest of Wizarding Britain. It certainly didn’t help that the House of Lords was comprised almost entirely of English and Welsh nobility, with the exception of the Macmillan clan and the Moran coven. The exclusion rankled both the Scots and the Northern Irish, and was a wound that had been festering since Caledonia and the Éire Republic joined Britannia. 

Scotland had somewhat appeased itself by instating its own form of local government in addition to the laws established by the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot. The Trifecta -- the three strongest Scottish clans after the absorption of Caledonia -- ruled Scotland in a council-type formation. They were surprisingly closed-lipped about the exact power the Trifecta wielding, and Albus only knew as much as he did because Minerva’s elder brother Moray was the head of Clan McGonagall. The other two Trifecta clans were headed by Lyall MacDougal and Archibald MacMillan. 

Albus sighed. He had plans he wished to implement, ideas he wished to share. Unfortunately, the current forces present in the British government were preventing him from achieving his vision. He’d been disillusioned in his youth, and hadn’t realized the true value of life until he’d defeated Gellert and locked the man away in his own prison. The ideology of the Greater Good hadn’t been a problem -- the manner of implementation, however, was where Gellert had gone astray. That, and his propensity for unsavory magic. Gellert hadn’t understood that murdering muggles was not the most efficient way to go. Wizards were inherently stronger than muggles. They lived longer, were more resistant to daily ills, and could work magic. Wizards needed to rule over muggles, but not in a cruel way. Rather, wizards needed to serve as a benevolent protector for muggles, much as he served as a benevolent protector for the children of Hogwarts. 

Albus leaned back in his chair. If the Progressives could succeed in the upcoming election, his plan would be more easily implemented, and he could start making baby steps towards his true goal. If muggle culture could be represented equally alongside traditional wizarding culture, surely wizard rule would be accepted with grace.

* * *

 

_ Personal Quarters of Severus Prince _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 20 January 1993 _

 

Aurora rose from her seat as the door clicked open. “So it is done?” she asked, scarcely daring to believe it.

“It is done,” Severus said, shucking his cloak. “Erasmus Prince has passed.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“It isn’t truly a loss if I didn’t care for him, is it?” Severus asked bitterly. “He was a selfish man, abandoning my mother to the whims of my father, and consigning the both of us to poverty until his eldest son, my uncle Septimus, died unexpectedly of dragon pox, leaving him without an heir and no way of producing one unless he blood-adopted  _ me _ .” 

“You look the same,” Aurora noted. 

“Of course I look the same. I’m thirty-three years old, for Merlin’s sake, and not some child with malleable flesh. If anything changed, it would occur slowly, and not for several months.” 

Severus stepped into the light and settled himself in the armchair across from Aurora. He would never be considered an attractive man -- his hooked nose, lank hair, and sallow skin did him no favors -- but Aurora felt he could be striking if he cleaned himself up properly. 

Severus cleared his throat. “You’re staring.”

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“Dangerous, that.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Severus smirked. “So what were you thinking about?” 

“The blood adoption,” Aurora ad libbed quickly. “How did that work?” 

“It will be easier if I show you.” Severus stood, and retrieved a Pensieve from a nearby shelf. It spoke volumes of the strength of his relationship with Dumbledore that the old man allowed him to borrow the Pensieve, and it showed even more the trust he’d established with Aurora that he was willing to show her his memory. 

Carefully, Severus drew a long silvery strand from his temple and placed it in the Pensieve. 

“If you could join me.”

Aurora leaned forward, and everything plunged into darkness…

* * *

 

_ Oldcastle _

_ Cheshire, England _

_ 19 September 1992 _

The chamber was dimly lit, light from seven fat tallow candles scarcely penetrating the gloom. Two men stood in the center of the room -- one, old and shriveled, and clad in a long white robe, and the other in plain linen trousers. A pentagram had been painstakingly etched into the stone floor, lines freshly coated in red, and the runes for spirit, air, earth, fire, and water annointed each of its points. 

The old man moved to the apex of the spirit point, while the younger sat cross legged in the center, his pale chest all but glowing in the darkness. The elder drew a long bone dagger from his sleeve. 

“Tiw, Frey, and Seaxnēat, I invoke thee. Creation, sacrifice, and fraternity, I beseech you to impress my will.” 

Silence hung in the air for a moment. 

“Child of my blood, is it your wish to become a true member of my family?”

“It is.”

The old man sliced the dagger down his left palm, then sheathed it. Dipping his right index finger in the pool of blood in his palm, he entered the pentagram. “With raidho I mark you,” he began, drawing the rune on Severus’ feet, “for three and thirty years you have traveled this earth with the name of another, and now you must begin your journey.” 

The elder dipped his fingers again, this time sketching gebo over Severus’ heart. “Let gebo mark the beginning of your relationship with the House of Prince. Let the blood of my heart become the blood of your heart.” 

Severus closed his eyes, and the old man drew dagaz, then sowilo in the center of his forehead. 

“By dagaz you will rise, and by sowilo you will find strength.” 

A flagon appeared in his hands, and more blood than Aurora thought was possible trickled into it. The man passed the flagon to Severus, along with the bone dagger. Face expressionless, Severus sliced open his palm and allowed blood to flow freely into the flagon. He returned it to the older man, who circled the pentagram, placing droplets on each corner. When he finished, he handed the flagon to Severus, who swallowed the remaining contents. 

“Tiw, Frey, and Seaxnēat. Creator, sacrifice, and son. By the magic bestowed on me by my ancestors, I bid you to recognize this man as my son in body and blood. By the ancient rites, I name him Severus Erasmus Prince.  _ Per sacra et per sanguinem, per deos voco super virtutem tuam. In æterno tempore: ut sit. _

The borders of the pentagram flashed gold, and then there was nothing.

* * *

 

_ Personal Quarters of Severus Prince _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 20 January 1993 _

“Does that answer your question?”

Aurora wrinkled her nose. “It was surprisingly macabre.” 

“Old Magick is often that way.”

Aurora shivered. Old Magick was a tricky business, depending largely on runic arrays, ritual, and calls to deities that may or may not exist. Aurora’s parents had been religious, and she’d believed in the old gods as well up until her sister Celeste had been murdered along with her entire family. If the gods couldn’t protect Celeste from the Death Eaters, or her other sister Phoebe from poison, what sort of tiny power could they even wield? Aurora believed it to be none, and the gods to be a farce, but most purebloods thought otherwise. 

“So, is being Lord Prince everything you hoped it would be?”

Severus scowled. “Don’t be a blithering idiot.”

Aurora smirked. “That much fun?” 

“That many obligations. Erasmus shirked his duties in his old age, and it is now my job to reconstruct the many alliances the Noble House of Prince once cultivated. My maternal grandmother was born a Selwyn, so I must owl them as the bare modicum of courtesy. I must also reach out to all of House Prince’s former allies, which include nearly all of the Traditionalist and Neutral-Traditionalist families. Furthermore, I learned that my aunt, Helen, was disowned for fleeing across the pond during the Dark Uprising. Once again, I must owl her to be polite.” 

“Any other dramatics?”

“Besides the fact that the senile fool wished to rename me Severus Septimus?”

Aurora chortled. “Really?”

“I am not jesting. Fortunately for my sanity, he decided that Severus Erasmus would be

more proper.”  

“What are your duties outside of the Wizengamot?”

“The usual sundry -- managing the family assets and ensuring the estate doesn’t get run into the ground. And,” Severus’ expression darkened, “I am expected to reproduce, or elsewise find an heir.” 

Aurora winked. 

“Playing the coquette is unbecoming for you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Perhaps I should ask you difficult questions, mm?” 

“Severus --”

“How  _ is _ your cousin doing?”

“Don’t --” 

“Not so fun when I’m needling you, eh? Now, I am genuinely curious...how is he doing?” 

Aurora gritted her teeth, not for the first time regretting cultivating a ten-year long friendship with Severus Snape. “Obstinate,” she ground out.

“Still won’t grant you the Shafiq seat?” Severus asked, smirking.

“Clearly. He’s not even married, or dating anyone,” Aurora complained. “Besides, he’s too busy with his work in the Auror corps to really devote time to the political scene.”

“And you do?”

“More than him,” Aurora grumbled. “ _ I _ don’t work weekends, and it’s not like he needs two seats.” 

“The Shafiq seat is arguably more prestigious.” 

“Yes, but it’s not as if he’s going to give up the Shacklebolt seat,” Aurora argued. “It’s the difference between an Ancient House and a Noble House -- who really cares about that these days anyway?”

“The blood-purists.”

“The question was rhetorical.” 

“Of course it was.” 

“Did you know,” Aurora began, “if Kingsley dies, I inherit both the Shacklebolt and Shafiq seats?”

“Yes, you’ve told me many times.”  

“I’ve thought about killing him.”

“Do I need to remind you again  _ not _ to tell me that?”

“I could get away with it, too.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do I even want to know how?”

“I’d frame Castor.” 

“Didn’t he get disowned back in ‘75?” 

“1976. He joined the Death Eaters in ‘75, but Mum and Dad didn’t find out until the beginning of ‘76.”

“What would his motive be?”

“Power. It’s always been power,” Aurora said without a second thought. Castor had always been a ruthless arse, and joining the Death Eaters had been one small step in a greater path of destruction. Castor had brutally murdered her second oldest brother Magnus purely out of spite, and her youngest brother Rigel was the spitting image of Castor, and had been killed on sight by Aurors.  

Aurora sighed. “Unfortunately -- or fortunately, depending on how you look at it -- I haven’t heard anything from Castor since the fall of the Dark Lord. I assume he fled to the Continent -- good riddance, that.”

“I thought you were planning on murdering poor Kingsley,” Severus said, bemusement

seeping into his voice. 

“Just fanciful thoughts,” Aurora said. “Kingsley is too nice to kill.” 

“You ought to be more careful with your thoughts,” Severus warned. “If you wish for any of our plans to succeed in the slightest, you will have to always be on guard.”

“I know.” 

“Aurora?”

“Yes?”

“ _ Legilimens. _ ” 

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Per sacra et per sanguinem, per deos voco super virtutem tuam. In æterno tempore: ut sit
> 
> By ritual, by blood, by gods, I call upon your power. Forevermore, it may be.


	20. Tang Taizong

# 

 

_ HOGWARTS, TANG TAIZONG FACE OFF IN SEMIFINALS MATCH _

_ by Ralph Whizzle _

 

Our hometown heroes have made it to the semi-final round of the inaugural International Scholastic Quidditch tournament. The number two ranked Dragons will face off against Tang Taizong School, who is currently ranked fourth after their narrow victory over Loihi. The match between Hogwarts and Tang Taizong will take place at Hogwarts on 31 January. 

The other semi-final match will take place between top-seeded Durmstrang Institute and third-ranked Ilvermorny. The winner of the Hogwarts-Tang Taizong match and the Durmstrang-Ilvermorny match will compete in the finals round in late March. 

**A closer look at Team Hogwarts**

Harry Potter continues to be one of Hogwarts’ strongest assets in this tournament. While some critics doubted that the Boy-Who-Lived would be able to compete on par with students up to five years older than him, Potter proved them wrong. As of the most recent polling, Potter is ranked second best Seeker behind Durmstrang’s Viktor Krum. Krum, a fifth year student, has been in talks to play for the junior national team for his home country of Bulgaria. Although Potter is not yet old enough to play for England’s junior team, we can be sure to see more bright things for him in the future. 

Other standouts from Hogwarts include sixth years Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood. Flint wasted no time establishing himself as a force to be reckoned with on the Pitch, and one who will do anything to obtain possession of the Quaffle. Out of the Chasers, Flint has the highest foul average, tieing with Connor Wisecrack of Ilvermorny. What makes Flint a dangerous player, however, isn’t his foul average, but rather his consistent shots on the goals, and his nearly uncanny ability to perform assists. Flint ranks third in the league in scoring behind Katarzyna Mieczkowska of Durmstrang and Chang Chen from Tang Taizong. Both Chen and Flint will feature in this weekend’s semi-final match, which promises an exciting game. 

Oliver Wood has proven himself time and time again to have Keeping abilities far beyond his years. Team coach Rolanda Hooch told the  _ Prophet _ that “Wood is one of the most energetic members of the team, and is always ready for practice, rain or shine.” Wood’s hard work clearly paid off, as he now tops the Keeper rankings after edging out Ilvermorny’s Benjamin Sayre. Sayre currently holds the number two rank, while Tang Taizong’s Michael Ren is third. 

Beyond their individual players, Hogwarts’ team has excellent depth. Fifth year Chaser Angelina Johnson was substituted out last match for classmate Aoife Moran after taking a Bludger to the face. Moran integrated seamlessly with the other two Chasers, showcasing Hogwarts’ ability to adapt.  

**A chance at the international title**

Hooch told the  _ Prophet _ this about the team’s chances of winning the tournament: “I don’t like to speculate, but I think we have a strong chance. If we beat Tang Taizong this weekend, we’ll be facing either Ilvermorny or Durmstrang. Both schools have great individual players, but we have a strong team. The students share a bond that has grown deeper with every game we play, and I have the highest degree of faith in them.” 

Here at the  _ Prophet,  _ we can wish the Hogwarts team the best of luck. For those who are interested in attending the game, please contact the Department of Magical Games and Sports to purchase tickets. 

**_Ralph Whizzle is a former Chaser for the Falmouth Falcons_ ** **.**

* * *

 

_ Great Hall _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 31 January 1993 _

“Nervous, Harry?” George Weasley asked as his foot beat a rapid tattoo on the floor. 

Harry ate another bite of eggs. “Not really.” 

“No?”

“No,” Harry said confidently, feeling only slightly odd. He’d been incredibly anxious before the prior two games, but for some reason he felt completely at ease today. Whether it was because of the amazing practices he’d been having all week, or something else, Harry didn’t know. He didn’t particularly care, either, so long as he played well.

“Can you believe we’re in the semi-finals?” Fred Weasley asked for the upteenth time. 

“Obviously,” Marcus said. “Did any of you read the  _ Prophet _ article earlier this week?” 

“Of course!” Wood exclaimed. “Did y’see my Keeper ranking?” 

“Yes. I saw  _ my _ Chaser ranking, as well. Apparently I’m  _ dangerous _ .”

“Oh, shut it, Marcus.” 

“I’ve got to play a perfect game, especially where Mieczkowska and Chen both rank above me for scoring and assisting averages. When -- not if -- we win the game today, we’ll have to face off against Mieczkowska and her fellows. Say, Potter --”

“What?”

“Do you think you could beat Krum?”

Harry looked at him in disbelief. “Beat  _ Krum _ ?”

“That is what I said.”

“Dunno. He’s a national level player.” Harry stabbed a chunk of potato. “I’m not worrying about that right now though. Today I need to focus on beating Shu Zhong, and after the match I can worry about Krum.”  

“Well said, Harry.”

Harry blushed slightly. “Thanks, Angelina.” 

They finished eating breakfast in relative silence before heading down to the Pitch. By now, their pre-game routine was familiar. Harry quickly pulled on his Quidditch gear, then the entire team laid down on the locker room floor for meditation and a pep talk from Hooch. 

“Stand up slowly,” Hooch said. “Reserves, follow me to our box. First string, good luck.” 

The reserves left, and Harry rose to his feet. Stretching, he grabbed his broom and queued up by the exit. 

“Alright mates, we got this,” Wood said. “Play like we practiced, and the game’s in the bag. We’ve got three amazing Chasers, two awesome Beaters, a kickass Seeker, and me. We can win this game. Hands in.”

They circled up.

“Hogwarts on three. One. Two. Three.”

“HOGWARTS!” they bellowed. 

“The game should be starting soon -- get in position.” 

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” boomed a voice. “Welcome to the semi-final round of the International Scholastic Quidditch Tournament! Visiting from China, we have the students of Tang Taizong School playing against our home team of Hogwarts. Let’s give a warm welcome to our visitors. I present you… Chen! Li! Jiang! Fa! Ming! Ren! Aaaaaaaaaand Zhong!” 

The crowd cheered. 

“And from Hogwarts, I give you…Flint! Johnson! Davies! Weasley! Weasley! Wood! Aaaaaaaaaaand Potter!” 

Harry whizzed out of the locker room, and the air was immediately filled with cheers. He quickly blocked them out, focusing on the game strategy. While Fred and George outclassed Tang Taizong’s Beater duo of Jia Fa and Ju-long Ming, the opposing team’s Chasers held a slight advantage due to the incredible skills of Chang Chen. Tang Taizong’s other Chasers, Olivia Li and Mei Jiang, were also formidable players, although they weren’t nearly as skilled as Chen and Marcus. Angelina and Roger would have to play a strong game if they hoped to keep the score close, especially since Tang Taizong’s Keeper was also a decent player. It was more important than usual for Harry to catch the Snitch early, and the pressure only mounted higher as everyone circled into position. 

_ TWEET!  _

“The Bludgers have been released! The Snitch is in play! The Quaffle is falling -- and snatched up by Chen! Chen heading down the Pitch…”

Harry tuned the announcer out and instead tried to track the Snitch. He’d seen it flit by Angelina’s elbow, then it’d vanished. He quickly scanned the field. Zhong had already started a spiral search pattern of the Pitch, and Harry would need to get a move on if he wanted to win. Keeping half an eye out for sudden movement, Harry gained altitude before moving into the Suchemann search maneuver. While the Suchemann pattern wasn’t as through as the spiral pattern, it covered the Pitch at a faster rate, giving a Seeker a higher chance as finding the Snitch sooner. 

“Flint scores! Hogwarts, 30, Tang Taizong, 70! Jiang in possession, passes to Li, who tosses it to Chen. Chen, heading down the Pitch, dodges a Bludger and an attempted interception by Davies. He shoots...barely blocked by Wood!” 

Harry let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. It was only about twenty minutes into the game, and Tang Taizong already had a fifty point lead. 

“Johnson in possession, passes to Davies. Davies back to Johnson...intercepted by Li! Li racing down the Pitch, dodges a Bludger, but loses the Quaffle to Flint. Flint looking unstoppable...successfully passes to Davies, back to Flint, Johnson advancing her position on the field, Flint to Johnson, Johnson to Flint. Chen going for the interception, but he’s seconds too late. Flint winding up to shoot...and takes a Bludger to the leg while still getting the shot off! Ren misses...Flint scores! Hogwarts 40, Tang Taizong, 70!” 

Harry watched in concern as the referee flew up to Marcus, presumably asking if Hogwarts needed a time-out. Marcus emphatically shook his head no, and the game continued. 

“Flint continuing to play despite his injured leg. Hogwarts seems to be taking some

inspiration from their top Chaser…” 

Harry couldn’t agree more. While Tang Taizong still held a small lead, Hogwarts was able to edge the score closer due to Flint’s manic Chasing. The Weasley twins had finally figured out the best ways to prevent Chen from obtaining possession, and with their best Chaser constantly harangued by Bludgers, Jiang and Li were having a much harder time advancing the Quaffle down the Pitch. 

“We’re slightly over an hour in, and there’s still no sign of the Snitch. Zhong and Potter are busy searching, but neither appears to have had any luck.” 

Harry sighed. He’d finished the Suchemann pattern with no results. Zhong was moving in the same spiral as before, and Harry could either try an Alternate Reverse Spiral or tail Zhong in case he found anything. Neither option was very appealing, and after a moment of consideration, he decided to try the Alternate Reverse Spiral, which would allow him to cover the same area as Zhong but at a slightly faster rate. 

He sped around the Pitch, eyes roving constantly as he scanned everywhere for the slightest sign of gold. Just as he neared the center of the Pitch, he finally saw it -- unfortunately, Zhong did too. Bracing himself against his broom handles, Harry plummeted earthward, wind rushing through his hair. A bludger whizzed just millimeters away from him, but Harry refused to lose focus. Zhong was close to the Snitch as well, but Harry was closer. He reached his hand out, and…

Fingers clasped around cold metal, and Harry raised his arm in victory.

“POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH! HOGWARTS WINS, 300 - 190!” 

The stadium erupted in cheers, and Harry was immediately pelted at by six other black and gold blurs, all of whom were screeching at the top of their lungs. 

“We’re going to finals, lads!” Oliver bellowed, thumping Harry and Marcus on the back. 

Fred and George let out identical shouts of joy, and Harry grinned from ear to ear as they slowly drifted downwards towards the reserves and Hooch. They’d won! 

They’d really won. 

As soon as they were with reach of the ground, the reserves all but pulled them off their brooms and into a massive group hug. Hooch looked happier than Harry had ever seen her before, and the reserves were out of their minds with excitement. 

“Well done, team,” Hooch said warmly. “Take your celebratory lap around the Pitch. We’ll debrief the match tomorrow. I thought everyone had an excellent game. Wood, Davies -- see that Flint makes it up to the hospital wing before you head back to your respective parties.” 

Flint grumbled a bit, but eventually acquiesced. The victory lap and good sportsmanship handshakes passed in a blur. Harry landed, and began to make his way towards the locker room. 

“Mr. Potter, if I could have a moment of your time.” 

Harry whirled around. A man with a trimmed goatee and neatly pressed black robes stood behind him. 

“My name is Oscar Dagworth, and I am the Recruiting Chairman for the British Quidditch League.” 

He held out a hand for Harry to shake.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.”  

“I have been watching the tournament game,” Dagworth began. “Your flying is quite

impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“Each summer, the British Quidditch League holds a summer camp for promising young players. It is quite selective, and I would like to officially invite you to attend.” Dagworth drew a crisp sheet of parchment from his robes, and handed it to Harry. “Registration ends on the first of March. The brochure has the registration instructions, and if you have any questions, send me an owl.” 

Harry grinned. “Thank you, sir.” 

The man nodded. “Congratulations once again on your win, Mr. Potter.” 

Still smiling, Harry made his way back to the lockers. It had truly been the best day ever.


	21. Usual Suspects

# 

_ Student Activities Room _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 13 February 1993 _

Ron studied the chess board for a moment longer, then grinned. “Checkmate in two.” 

Palin scowled. “Good game.” 

Ron grinned wider. “Thanks.” Palin was one of the stronger players on the Slytherin team, and after losing to him three times and ending in stalemate once, Ron was ecstatic over the win. He’d done well enough in the fall tournament against Ravenclaw, beating both Juliette Stark, who was a third year, and Aoife Moran, who was a fifth year. However, he’d lost to sixth year Duncan Inglebee after misstepping during the endgame, and Ron was determined to not let that happen again. 

They headed back to the main table, Ron still smiling like a loon. Barclay raised an eyebrow. “I take it you finally beat Palin?”

Ron nodded.

“Good for you. Julius and I just debriefed our game, and I think Margaret and Flora are still discussing. Palin, what do you think went wrong?”

Palin grimaced. “Midgame, Ron set up a trap for my queen that I didn’t notice until it was too late. He’d taken out a couple of my other key pieces as well by that point, and after I lost the queen it was just a matter of delaying the inevitable.” 

“Fair. Ron, how do you think your endgame was?”

Ron thought for a moment. “Better than it has been in previous games. The win could have been a bit cleaner, but overall it’s been improving. I’ve got a couple other ideas I’d like to try, and I think they’ll at least put my opponent on the back foot.” 

“Glad to hear it,” Barclay said easily. “Margaret, Flora, how was your game?”

“As expected. We’ve already debriefed.”

“Good, good. Now, on the subject of our spring school-wide tournament, registration has been going pretty well. We’ve got a bunch of Slytherins signed up, including everyone's favorite chess player, Draco Malfoy --”

The entire team groaned.

“-- A bunch of ‘Claws signed up as well, a handful of ‘Puffs, and one lone Gryffindor.”

“Percy Weasley?”

“You guessed it. We’ve got another couple of weeks before signups close, so keep telling all your friends to join. Palin, anything to add?”

“Not on the Hogwarts tournament, but I’ve received a couple owls with summer chess opportunities for those who are interested. The British Chess Championship is a great tournament that’s taking place in London this year. It’s got two divisions --  _ scholastic _ , for those who are under seventeen, and  _ open  _ for those who are over seventeen. Semi finalists and finalists get free entry to the Western European Chess Tournament, which is hosted in Paris.”  

Ron’s eyes widened. It’d be the perfect opportunity! 

“I highly recommend that everyone attend -- the entry fee is three Galleons, two sickles, and a knut, which is very reasonable. There’s also the Valentine Gaunt Memorial Chess Tournament, open to anyone from England or Wales.” 

“Thank you. Does anyone else have any comments? Questions?” 

“Any updates on an interscholastic tournament?” Julius Fudge asked. 

“Beauxbatons is definitely interested, as is Olympus and Ferviditious,” Palin said. “Durmstrang is on the fence -- apparently their headmaster is being squirrely about it.  I didn’t owl the Irish school, for obvious reasons --”

Ron grimaced, remembering the Dark reputation of the Irish school, and the true reasons for their split from the rest of Britain.

“-- and I figured we could expand to include some of the other wizarding schools if this is successful. I don’t want us to overburden ourselves the first time organizing it.”

“That’s fair. So this would probably happen next year?”

“If all goes to plan, yes.” 

“Excellent.”

“Does anyone else have questions? No? I’ll see you all next weekend, then.” 

Ron happily walked back to the Slytherin dorms, dreaming of chess all the while. He, Ron Weasley, would be the school chess champion, and it’d be amazing.

* * *

 

_ Potions Classroom _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 14 February 1993 _

 

Hermione concentrated fiercely on chopping her betony root into thin identical slices while Lily crushed moly blossoms. The healing potion they were making in class today was particularly fiddly, and Hermione wanted to make sure they got it exactly right. Any mistakes would mean that they wouldn’t finish the potion within the allotted time, which would be disastrous for Hermione’s marks. 

“You should now be finished constructing your base,” Professor Selwyn said from the front of the room. “Check the color index at the back of your textbook to ensure that it is the proper shade of lavender. If your potion is too pale or too dark, raise your hand and I will help you determine how to adjust it so you may move forward. If your potion is not a shade of lavender or purple, you will need to start over.” 

Hermione quickly referenced the chart. Their potion was , of course, perfect. 

“Lily, you have the bronze stirring rod?”

“Uh huh. I can stir while you add the crushed moly.”

Hermione carefully tipped the blue blossoms into the potion as Lily stirred in an inverse figure-eight pattern. 

“And now we decrease the temperature by 7.9 degrees, and go back to the standard eight stir pattern,” Hermione narrated as she adjusted the heat under the cauldron. “I’ll set the timer for four minutes so we know when to add the betony root.” 

“Sounds good. Have you measured out the dittany yet?”

“No, I’ll do that now.” 

Crouching down to get her eyes level with the crystal beaker, Hermione poured out 14.15 milliliters of dittany. 

“And now we wait,” she proclaimed as the potion shifted from lavender to pale pink. 

The timer dinged, and Hermione added the betony root and the dittany as Lily continued to stir. A surreptitious glance around the classroom showed that they were the farthest along,  _ and _ had the best potion. Hermione huffed. Malfoy’s potion was irritatingly good as well, albeit not quite as perfect as Hermione and Lily’s.

Smiling to herself, Hermione took over the stirring pattern as Lily adjusted the flame  under the cauldron. 

A floral scent drifted in from behind them. “Miss Granger, Miss Moon, how is your  potion progressing?” Professor Selwyn asked. 

“We’ve just finished stage three, so we’re on track.”

Professor Selwyn nodded. “Your consistency looks correct, as does the color. Remember to keep a sharp eye out for mist rising from the surface of your potion -- the faster you blend in the clover honey and remove the potion from the heat, the better result you will get.”

Hermione and Lily nodded.

“Keep up the good work.” 

Professor Selwyn walked away in a swirl of robes. Hermione and Lily grinned. While Professor Selwyn was far more free with compliments than Professor Snape had been the previous year, she wasn’t by any means overly generous with them, and one truly did need to earn her praise. 

“Did you measure out the clover honey?” Hermione asked.

“Yes -- it’s right here.” 

“Okay. Help me keep an eye on the potion.” 

They stared at it intensely for several minutes until a pale white mist rose off the surface. Clover honey was rapidly added, and the cauldron was removed from the flame as the potion inside slowly turned into the correct shade of sunset orange. Hermione carefully filled a vial with it, labeled it with their names, and brought it to the front of the classroom where the professor greeted it with a nod of approval. Hermione beamed all the way back to her seat, quickly packed her bag, and headed out of the classroom with Lily close behind her. 

“Hermione?” Lily started as they climbed up the stairs.

“What?”

“If I asked you a question, you’d be perfectly honest with me, right?”

“Of course!”

“Okay. So you’d tell me if there was anything up with Harry’s whole Parselmouth thing from a couple months ago?”

“What!?” 

“The Parselmouth thing from Dueling Club. It kind of blew over, and it felt very hush-hush.”

“Oh. There was nothing to it, really. Why?”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. “No reason,” Lily said awkwardly. “I was just wondering. Anyway, what do you think our chances are of winning the Quidditch tournament?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Something seemed off, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Why had Lily changed the topic so quickly?  

“Er, our chances are alright,” she began. “The Durmstrang Seeker, Viktor Krum, could be a big problem, though…”

* * *

 

_ Slytherin Common Room _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 14 February 1993 _

 

Ron laid down a pair of cards and watched with glee as Theo got his eyebrows singed when he leaned over to place his own pair. 

“Ha! Gotcha!” 

“I don’t like you.”

Ron snickered. “Your turn, Blaise.” 

Blaise set down a pair of manticore cards -- which didn’t explode -- then Harry laid down a pair of mountain troll cards that did. Ron narrowly avoided catching the blast after Theo played his last two cards, marking him as the winner. 

“You guys want to play Classical or Bavarian?” Harry asked. “I don’t like this version.”

“I’m good with Classical -- Bavarian Snap is too much effort to set up.” 

“Same here.” 

“Good, Classical Snap it is. Ron, you can play first. “

Blaise shuffled the cards and placed them in a stack. “Ready?” 

Ron drew his wand. “Yes.” 

Blaise double tapped the stack. “Go!”

The cards began self-dealing, and Ron started tapping matching cards, eyes darting every which way. There were matching Hebridean Blacks, giant squids, sphinxes…

“Time’s up! Thirty-one points,” Blaise said, scribbling Ron’s score on a piece of parchment. “Harry, you want to go next?” 

Unsurprising, Harry topped Ron’s score with a whopping forty-four points. Blaise narrowly edged out Ron with thirty-three points, while Theo managed to only score thirty. 

“I like this version,” Harry commented. “We should definitely play this one again.”

“You only like Classical because you win every time,” Ron complained. 

Harry smirked. “What can I say? I didn’t become a Seeker because I had reflexes like a Flobberworm.” 

Theo chuckled. 

“I didn’t mean it that way!”

“Of  _ course _ you didn’t.”

Harry made a face. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Theo! How could you!” Blaise proclaimed dramatically. “Corrupting young Harry like that…”

“Yeah, Harry being so impressionable and all, I don’t even know if he should be playing Snap,” Ron added helpfully. “He might turn into Finnegan, and make everything explode.” 

“Oh, shut it.”

Theo adopted a serious expression. “We’re just looking out for you, you know, we kind, caring Slytherins…”

“Are you sure you weren’t all meant for Hufflepuff?”

“Nah,” Blaise said. “Yellow would look terrible with my skin tone.”

“Now you sound like Malfoy.”

“Bletch.  _ I _ am superior to his royal Malfoyness.” 

“Somebody better tell him that.”

Blaise sighed. “I’ve been telling him that since first year, don’t you know.”

“Yes,” Ron said quickly.

“Gee, you didn’t have to think much about that, huh?”

“‘Course not.” 

“You’re terrible, Ron. Now, who’s started on that Transfiguration homework?”

Theo, Harry, and Ron groaned in unison.

“We should probably get on that, then.”

* * *

 

_ Professor Snape’s Office _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 14 February 1993 _

 

Hermione knocked on the office door with a degree of trepidation. She’d received a note during dinner saying Professor Snape wanted to speak with her, but she’d been given no further information.  

The door swung open, and Hermione jumped. “Professor? You wanted to see me?”

“Obviously.”

He motioned her into his office, and she settled herself into the chair in front of his desk.  “I have received correspondence from my contact regarding your timeline of Professor Lockhart’s exploits. His data corresponds with your own.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Really?”  
“Do I appear to be jesting?”

“No…” 

“The question now is what you wish to do next. You have information exposing an international celebrity as a fraud. I would suggest exercising the utmost caution with your decision.”

Hermione thought for a moment. “I was talking with Hector Umbridge over the Yule holiday about it,” she began. “He thought I should go to the  _ Prophet _ . His mum knows a reporter there -- Rita Skeeter.”

Professor Snape’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “Are you familiar with Rita Skeeter’s work?”

“A bit.”

“And are you familiar with her reputation?”  
“I know she’s know as a gossip journalist.”

Professor Snape sighed. “Skeeter does not have the most sterling reputation among journalists. She is equally likely to help you as she is to hurt you, and she nearly always twists the truth.” 

“No offense intended, sir, but I think the truth here is about as sensational as you can get. I’m not sure she could make it any more dramatic.”

“She could damage your own reputation,” Professor Snape pointed out. 

Hermione tapped her fingers idly. “Is there any way I could protect myself against that?”

“Nothing legal.” 

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Do you think the benefits she’d gain by being the person to break the story would outweigh her desire to slander me?” 

“I do not know. You will have to weigh the risks yourself. The presentation of your request would certainly play a role in her willingness to aid you.” 

Hermione took a deep breath. “I want to go through with it. Will you help me?”  
Professor Snape smiled sinisterly. “Of course. The first step will be to draft a letter…”


	22. The Good Fight

# 

 

_ Office of Dolores J. Umbridge _

_ Ministry of Magic, London, England _

_ 22 February 1993 _

 

Dolores tapped her quill idly on her desk as she reconsidered the letter in front of her. She’d initially rebuffed her former roommate’s attempts to pump her for information, but if Rita was anything, she was extremely persistent. 

_ Rita --  _

_ It’s not that I object to your task. In fact, I believe it is admirable that you have decided to undertake an investigation that has the potential to upset the applecart, as it were. I am not against aiding you; however, I will not compromise my current position to further your goals. I currently find myself indispensable to the Minister, and he has become quite dependent on my advice of late. It is inevitable that I will only continue to rise in his ranks, and perhaps even higher in the Ministry, which, of course, would lead to more extensive information.  _

_ Furthermore, I had the opportunity back in the autumn to speak with Lord Gaunt himself. The Minister was quite flustered, of course, but I held my composure. I impressed onto Lord Gaunt the utility of House Umbridge and the power we could lend to his movement should he chose to endorse our House in our bid to Ascend to the Wizengamot. Such an Ascension would grant House Umbridge such power, such utility!  _

_ But I digress. In the short of it, Rita, I support your cause, but feel I can give it no further _

_ support at this junction.   _

_ Yours in sincerity, _

  1. _J. Umbridge_



_ Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic _

 

Dolores sealed the letter, depositing a blob of navy wax onto the seam before pressing her personal seal into it. She summoned her own owl -- which was  _ technically _ not allowed in the Ministry, but her position as Senior Undersecretary did have some perks, after all -- and fastened her letter to its leg. The owl winged off through the Ministry, and Dolores smiled. One piece of political masterminding down, several more to go.  She had a finance meeting scheduled with the Minister, which would most certainly be dull, and a meeting with the Department of Magical Games and Sports to discuss the final round of the International Scholastic Quidditch Tournament. Durmstrang had the slightest edge over Hogwarts in terms of seed position, but they wanted to severely limit the number of spectators allowed at the tournament due to Igor Karkaroff's hardline stance on secrecy. Currently, it was looking like Hogwarts would be able to host, which would be a big perk for them. 

Sighing, Dolores checked her timepiece before standing to straighten her jumper. It was time for the finance meeting, and it was Dolores’ job to be punctual, professional, and well-briefed. Dolores picked up her folder, and clacked down the hallway to the meeting room. The usual committee members were present -- Sigmund Scrimgeour, the Gringotts Liaison; Cressida Marchbanks, the Director of Wizarding Economics; and Annalise Spinks, the Secretary of Internal Affairs -- and they had a surprise guest. 

“Lord Malfoy,” Dolores simpered. “What a pleasant surprise.” 

Cornelius, ever the fool, beamed. “Lucius and I ran into each other over the lunch break,” he said jovially. “I thought it only fitting that he sit in on the meeting, especially since his wife now sits on the Primary School Advisory Board.”

Dolores gave him a measured glance. Cornelius hadn’t been quite so colloquial with Lord Malfoy in the past, and Lady Malfoy’s appointment to the Primary School Advisory Board had certainly changed the current political calculus. 

Dang and blast. Lord Malfoy had struck so quickly, so effectively, jeopardizing Dolores’ well-laid plans. With any luck, he hadn’t had time to wreak too much havoc on the Minister. 

Dolores took a seat to Cornelius’ left -- Lord Malfoy was sitting on his right -- and readied her quill. 

Cressida Marchbanks stood. “We have several key budget matters to review today,” she began, “first among them is our funding programme for the new primary school system…”

Dolores sighed, and settled in for what was quickly turning into an incredibly boring meeting. 

“...Dolores.”

Dolores turned on the spot. “Yes, Cressida?” The meeting was at long last over, yet the other woman still wanted to talk. The gall of her! 

“I need to speak with you.”

“I am busy,” Dolores sniffed importantly. 

Cressida raised one dark eyebrow, her expression brokering no argument. “Now, and in private.” 

“Follow me, then,” she said, leading the way to her office. It was only once they were firmly ensconced in her office with the door shut and several privacy wards in place that Cressida spoke again. 

“You know why I’m here.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dolores said, playing for time as her mind spun. It was one of the rare occasions she was answering genuinely, and not in some ploy to gather more information.

“I am here on behalf of my grandmother.” 

The words hung in the air, and something clicked. “Ah,” Dolores said elegantly. 

“So you  _ are _ acquainted with the matter.”

“Of sorts. Would you care for tea?”

“No.”

Dolores busied herself with the pot -- it had a rather attractive pattern of kitties on it -- then settled herself back at her desk. “You were saying?”  
“Don’t play coy with me. You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about.”

“And so what difference does it make if I do?” 

“It would mean I am correct, and that you are meddling in matters you ought not meddle in!”

Dolores nodded sagely. “I see. Politics is fun and games until you don’t get what you want.” 

A dull flush began to creep across Cressida’s pale face. “You and your upstart House are

threatening the seat that rightfully belongs to House Marchbanks!  We were robbed of a chance to join the Wizengamot back when House Urquhart was instated back in the ‘30s. We will not let a social-climbing cadet branch of House Selwyn take what is our birthright, what is ours in blood, breeding, and devotion.” 

“Are you quite done?” 

“I’m warning you, Dolores,” Cressida said, pointing a finger. “If you throw any sort of shadow over our claim, I will be the least of your worries...for however bad I am, Griselda is a hundred times worse. Good day.”

Cressida stormed out, tearing down the privacy wards as she went. Dolores harrumphed and poured herself a cup of tea. 

“It’s a pity,” Dolores mused. “She’s barking up the completely wrong tree...it’s House Runcorn and House Rookwood she really needs to worry about…”

* * *

 

_ Room Seven _

_ Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade, Scotland _

_ 23 February 1993 _

 

Rita stared doubtfully at the child in front of her. “Your timeline is accurate?”

The bushy haired girl nodded. “Yes, Ms. Skeeter. I extensively cross-referenced it myself, and Professor Snape further ascertained its validity via one of his old contacts.” 

Internally, Rita shuddered. She could only imagine what sort of contacts a man like Severus Snape had cultivated over the years. “Indeed,” she said smoothly, “and pray tell me, what made you decide to come to me, of all people?” 

“It was my housemate, Hector Umbridge, who gave me the idea,” the girl said. “He

spoke very highly of your ability to create a compelling story, and that his mum knew you from school. It seemed like the perfect opportunity.” 

Rita raised an eyebrow. The girl was good, Rita would give her that. Clever, intelligent, and at a slight disadvantage to her peers -- if the truth were to be told, she was a girl after Rita’s own heart. Rita reached into her handbag, passing over the lime green QuickQuotes Quill for the purple DictaQuill. “You don’t mind if I use a DictaQuill, do you?” Rita asked. “It’ll record exactly what you say, allowing me to focus on our conversation rather than taking notes.” 

“Do what’s best for you. All I’m interested in is getting the best story out there.” 

Rita smiled. “Lovely. Why don’t we start with the basics, then. Your name, age, house,

and a bit about you.”

The girl took a deep breath. “My name is Hermione Granger. I’m thirteen years old, and a member of Slytherin House. I’m a second year student here at Hogwarts with a possibly dangerous habit of noticing things that other people don’t.” 

“What are some things you’ve noticed?” 

“Mostly small things,” Hermione began. “I have a very good memory, which helps me notice some of the minutia that goes into magic. Recently, I realized there was something fishy about Professor Lockhart.” 

“And what turned you on to that train of thought?” 

“I was talking with my friend Ron -- Ronald Weasley, that is -- and he made some throwaway comment about something stupid Professor Lockhart had done in class. The wheels in my brain started turning, and the more I thought about it, the more I started to believe that Professor Lockhart’s accounts perhaps weren’t as accurate as he claimed they were. Over Yule break, I had enough free time to compile an extensive timeline. The deeper I progressed into my research, the more inaccuracies I found. I was deeply disturbed, of course, and immediately brought my work to Professor Snape where he was able to help verify my timeline and help me plot a plan of action...and here I am today.”  

Rita probed Hermione further, and much to her delight discovered the girl was a veritable well of information. The anecdotes she offered were both amusing and appalling, and Lockhart’s treatment of the Boy-Who-Lived painted him all too clearly as a desperate attention-seeking fraud.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Rita said at last. “I believe I have plenty of information for now. It was a pleasure working with you.”

The girl nodded. “I look forward to reading the article in the  _ Prophet _ . Do you think it will merit the front page?” 

Rita smiled, shark-like. “I  _ know _ it will merit the front page.”

* * *

 

_ 26 February 1993 _

 

_ BREAKING NEWS! _

_ GILDEROY LOCKHART REVEALED A FRAUD! MASS-OBLIVIATIONS HIDE TRUE HEROS!  _

_ by Rita Skeeter _

 

_ Ex-Hogwarts Professor and Order of Merlin recipient Gilderoy Lockhart has been exposed as a serial liar and Obliviator,  _ writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent.  _ A timeline compiled by Hermione Granger (Slytherin, Hogwarts Class of 1998) showed multiple inaccuracies in Lockhart’s alleged exploits, including more than one incident of Lockhart being in multiple locations at the same time. Furthermore, extensive sleuth work by Granger revealed that original sources of Lockhart’s encounters contained no mention of the celebrity. In hindsight, it was a clear warning flag.  _

_ Lockhart’s behavior in the classroom only supports Granger’s claims.  _

_ “He never really taught us anything,” said Cecily Umbridge (Slytherin, Hogwarts Class of 1999). “He also dodged a lot of questions about his books when we asked.”  _

_ Draco Malfoy (Slytherin, Hogwarts Class of 1998) furthers Umbridge’s claims. “On the first day of class, Professor Lockhart failed to combat Cornish Pixies,” Malfoy told the  _ Prophet _. “Luckily several members of our class, myself included, had thought to read ahead in the textbook, so we had enough knowledge to deal with the pixies. I’m certain other classes weren’t as successful.”  _

_ And indeed they were not. Neville Longbottom (Gryffindor, Hogwarts Class of 1998) was stuck hanging from a chandelier due to Lockhart’s incompetence.  _

_ “One of the worst parts about class is the reenactments,” Granger explained in her personal statement. “Professor Lockhart forces Harry [Potter] to play the most humiliating roles, which just makes Harry and everyone else in the class uncomfortable. There’s also no educational value to be had in Professor Lockhart’s teachings. Anyone who thought the Homorphus Charm would be effective against werewolves would be dead or changed in a heartbeat if they tried it.”  _

_ Luckily for our students, their young impressionable minds will not be further damaged. As of press time, Lockhart was taken into Auror custody.  _

_ For Granger’s complete analysis, see TIMELINE on page 27.  _

_ To read more on Lockhart’s true past, see LOCKHART on page 15. _

Severus grinned wryly as he read the morning copy off the paper. Somehow, incredibly, Granger had pulled it off. The article was factual, to the point, and contained no insults to Granger’s character. He wasn’t exactly sure how the girl had managed such a feat, and frankly he wasn’t sure if  he wanted to know. 

Severus sipped his coffee thoughtfully and propped his feet up on his desk. It was time for sparks to fly and for Albus to take some serious flack for his hiring decisions. Perhaps, next year, the DADA professor wouldn’t be quite as bad. 

Smiling, Severus allowed himself to relax. Perhaps the outcome would be even more favorable -- at long last, Albus could run out of excuses and finally instate him, Severus, as one of the Defense professors.

 


	23. Durmstrang

# 

 

_ Great Hall _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 6 March 1993 _

 

Hermione cast a nervous glance across the Great Hall. The Quidditch players, as was now usual on gameday, had their own small table set up, and were eagerly consuming breakfast -- well, Harry wasn’t, he was picking at his. Hermione scowled. Didn’t Harry understand that he needed fuel for the game? There was no way he could beat Viktor Krum on an empty stomach. 

Hermione watched as one of the other players nudged him, and Harry resumed eating his toast, nodding in agreement as Oliver Wood held up some sort of diagram with wriggly lines. 

“...Hermione?”

“What?”

Lily laughed. “Knut for your thoughts? You were really lost there, for a moment.” 

“Oh. I was just thinking about the game.” 

“Do you think we’ll win?” Millie asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione began, then Lily cut her off. 

“Oooh, something the great Hermione doesn’t know!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Shut it.  _ Anyway _ , what I was going to say before a certain somebody interrupted was that it’s a toss up. The Chaser squad rankings put our Chasers above Durmstrang’s, but Viktor Krum is the better Seeker by far. Our Beaters have a slight edge on theirs, and their Keeper is about equal to Wood. It’s really going to come down to how long we can delay the catch of the Snitch. If Harry can catch it, we’ll probably win. If our Chasers can get a big enough lead, we’ll probably win. If Krum catches it early, or if we don’t have a big enough lead when he does catch it, we’ll lose.” 

“Boo,” said Millie. “We better not lose. My family will be insufferably happy if we do.”

“Why would your family want Hogwarts to lose?” Hermione asked, feeling rather confused. 

“Not my immediate family -- my cousins,” Millie clarified. “Ivan played for Koldovstoretz, and Viktor, as you all know, plays for Durmstrang.” 

“Ah. That makes more sense.” 

The conversation quickly devolved into who had the craziest relatives until, finally, it was time to go outside for the match. It was unseasonably warm for March, yet still chilly enough that Hermione was glad to have her scarf. Burrowing her face into it, Hermione followed the stream of Hogwarts students out across the grounds to the Pitch. The stands were under special expansion charms for the occasion and were already filling up with spectators. A large portion of Durmstrang students had traveled to Hogwarts for the event, as well as the players’ families and various officials. 

Hermione, Millie, and Lily joined up with the rest of the Slytherin second years. Ron had already drank half of his pumpkin juice slushie, and Harry and Blaise were having a popcorn catching contest. 

“Where’d you guys get the snacks?” Hermione asked. 

“There’s a vendor walking around. You should get a slushie -- they’re really good.”

“Obviously. Don’t drink it so fast! You’ll have none left for the game.”

Ron shrugged. “They’re only 10 Sickles each. I can always get another.” 

Sure enough, Ron had finished his slushie by the time the vendor had come back around. They both ended up buying themselves slushies, although Hermione chose the butterbeer flavour instead of the pumpkin juice one. Millie and Lily each chose to have  dragon fruit slushies, and a large tub of caramel popcorn to share. 

“Do you think Harry is ready for the game?” Hermione asked anxiously. 

Ron nicked a piece of popcorn. “Yeah. He’s been a lot more confident lately. I think he’ll do well. The whole team has been spending a lot of time together, actually, and I think Harry’s been having quite a bit of fun with them.”

“That’s good,” Hermione said easily. “I’m glad he--” 

The rest of her sentence was cut off by a booming voice. 

“Welcome, ladies and gentlewizards, to the final match of the International Scholastic Quidditch Tournament! We have our host school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, facing off against the Durmstrang Institute!” 

Hermione cheered as loud as she could for Hogwarts. 

“Introducing our visiting team...I give you Mieczkowska! Ostrowska! Abadjiev! Petersen! Andersen! Kowal! Aaaaaaaaand Krum!” 

The Durmstrang players whizzed around the Pitch in a synchronized crimson blur. 

“And our hometown heroes of Hogwarts, I present you with Flint! Johnson! Davies! Weasley! Weasley! Wood! Aaaaaaaaaaand Potter!” 

The Hogwarts side of the stadium went berserk. Several meters over in the stands, Dean Thomas from Gryffindor was waving a huge banner with a snarling Hogwarts dragon. One of the older students had performed some sort of charm on it which made the colors flash in the sunlight. Hermione grinned as the painted dragon roared. The game hadn’t even started yet, and she was already excited, which was really saying something given that she didn’t really like Quidditch. Perhaps she was becoming ill. 

“The players have assumed the starting position…”

_ TWEET! _

“The Quaffle has been released! The Bludgers are live! Let the game begin!” 

The Chasers set off like rockets, all three Durmstrang players powering towards the Quaffle. From Hogwarts, only Flint sped forwards as Johnson and Davies spread out. 

“Flint grabs the Quaffle, Hogwarts in possession. Passes to Johnson, who heads down the Pitch -- Durmstrang trying to catch up -- Johnson dodges one Bludger, which is rebounded by Weasley. Petersen barely dodging that return blow...Johnson passes to Flint, who back passes to Davies. Ostrowka goes in for the interception and misses by millimeters. Davies throws the Quaffle long, Johnson receives it, goes for the shot…blocked by Durmstrang Keeper Hans Kowal! Abadjiev in possession, passes to Mieczkowska…” 

Hermione watched as the Chasers continued their aerial battle. Harry and Krum spiraled above them in a desperate search for the Snitch.

“Flint scores, 10, Hogwarts, 0 Durmstrang.” 

From there, the game began to pick up. Davies took a Bludger to the shoulder, and Hooch had to call a timeout before she allowed him to continue playing. Slowly but surely, Hogwarts’ score began to climb. 

“Johnson scores! Hogwarts, 90, Durmstrang 50!” 

Suddenly, Krum went into a dive. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. He couldn’t have seen the Snitch yet! It was far too soon! Harry dove after him, but Krum continued to build a lead until one of the Weasley twins shot a Bludger his way. 

“Krum heading earthwards, Potter on his heels. Have they seen the Snitch? Krum’s getting close to the ground...and it was a feint! Potter pulls out of the dive just in time, steadily gaining altitude...looks like Krum will have to resort to more drastic measures if he wants to fool Potter!” 

Hermione cheered. She knew Harry was too smart to fall for Krum’s tricks. 

“Durmstrang is in possession of the Quaffle. Ostrowska passes to Abadjiev. Abadjiev back to Ostrowska -- intercepted by Flint! Hogwarts in possession, Flint tosses to Johnson, Johnson to Davies...Davies takes another Bludger to the shoulder but doesn’t drop the Quaffle! He passes to Flint, who shoots. Kowal goes for the block...and he misses! Hogwarts scores, 130 to 60!” 

Davies flew awkwardly as Wood desperately motioned for a timeout. 

“Hogwarts calls a timeout, Davies requiring some assistance to make it to the ground…” 

“Do you think Davies is okay?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“Dunno,” Ron replied. “He was definitely having some issues flying down, and it’s the second time he’s been hit this game.” 

“Who do you reckon they’ll sub in for him?” Theo asked. 

“Moran or Pucey,” Ron guessed. “Moran got to play in the Koldovstoretz game, but Pucey’s style meshes really well with Flint’s. Actually, he’s the only one who is anywhere near as aggressive as Flint. They could sub him in now and gain some offensive advantage, but if Flint gets hurt, then that’ll make Pucey even more of a target, and if both get injured, we’ll probably lose the game.”

“So Moran, then?” 

“Probably.” 

“Timeout is over. Hogwarts substitutes in Aoife Moran for Roger Davies.”

“Called it,” Ron said.

Hermione hadn’t thought it was possible, but the game picked up once more. The Weasleys turned into twin terrors as they zoomed around the Pitch working to exact revenge on the Durmstrang players. Several minutes later, they had success when one of the Durmstrang Chasers took a Bludger to the face. 

“Flint scores, Hogwarts, 160, Durmstrang 80! Durmstrang calls a timeout...Mieczkowska looking injured after taking that Bludger…” 

“Rough game, huh?” Hermione asked. 

“Could be worse,” Blaise said. “In one of the World Cup games, back in ‘78, I think, the entire team had to be substituted out twice due to injuries.” 

Hermione gulped. “I didn’t realize Quidditch could be that violent.” 

“It sure can...and that’s why it’s so great.” 

“Timeout is over. Durmstrang substitutes in Elijah Levy for Katarzyna Mieczkowska.” 

The game started up again, the Durmstrang Chasers slightly subdued. Mieczkowska had easily been one of their stronger players, and while Levy wasn’t bad per say, he wasn’t quite as talented as she had been. Hogwarts capitalized on Durmstrang’s set back, broadening their lead from 80 points to 120. Hermione watch as Krum became more and more agitated. He’d tried to feint out Harry again, but to no great success, and if he didn’t catch the Snitch soon, it would be impossible for Durmstrang to win unless their Chasers had an extraordinary resurgence. 

“Potter goes into a dive, possibly sighting the Snitch…” 

Hermione was at the edge of her seat. If Harry caught the Snitch, it would be beyond amazing. 

“Krum is hot in pursuit, this may be the real deal, folks. Meanwhile, we have Durmstrang in possession of the Quaffle…”

The Seekers streaked groundward, Krum slowly gaining on Harry. Harry reached out a hand...and Krum rammed into him. Rolling several times, Harry somehow managed to hang onto his broom. Krum hovered in place, rapidly scanning the area. The Snitch, even if it had been there, was apparently gone.

“That’s a foul on behalf of Durmstrang for Seeker interference! Hogwarts is awarded one penalty shot. Quaffle is handed to Flint. Flint takes the shot...and Kowal just misses it! Hogwarts scores, putting them at 230 to Durmstrang’s 100.”  

“I can’t believe Krum fouled Harry!” Lily said angrily. “We were about to win!”

“Can’t say I can blame Krum, though,” Blaise said. “The game is still salvagable for Durmstrang if they can catch the Snitch soon.” 

Durmstrang’s Chasers seemed to realize this as well, managing to score another goal. Unfortunately for them, Moran managed to score, which maintained Hogwarts’ 130 point lead. 

“Levy takes the Quaffle from Kowal, tosses it to Ostrowska. Ostrowska dodges Johnson and a Bludger...Moran going for a block -- Hogwarts back in possession! Moran speeding down the Pitch, clearly proving she is as good as any first string player. She passes to Flint without a hitch, avoids a Bludger set by Andersen, and Flint passes the Quaffle back to her. Moran and Johnson heading for goal posts, Moran sends the Quaffle to Johnson. Johnson shooting towards that far goal...and she scores!” 

The Hogwarts side of the stands cheered. They were now up by 140 points, and needed

only needed to increase and maintain their lead by twenty points to secure the game. 

“Durmstrang’s offense is making moves, Ostrowska gets a long pass off to Abadjiev. Abadjiev avoids Flint, a Bludger, and a Weasley. Passes to Levy, back to Ostrowska. Ostrowska makes a shot...and Wood blocks it! Hogwarts back in possession…” 

Moran seized the Quaffle and zoomed down the Pitch. 

“Moran’s playing really well,” Ron commented. “Ravenclaw’s going to have a good team next year -- her brother, Aedan, is also a reserve player -- he’s the Keeper, not as good as Wood, of course, but not bad at all -- and then Davies is first string, as you know.” 

“We won’t be too bad either,” Millie piped up. “The Warrington brothers are reserves so they’ve been getting good training all this year, plus we have Flint, Pucey, and Harry.”

“And me,” Draco said, “and the brooms Father provided us with. They are, obviously, of superior materials to those that the other Gryffindor and Ravenclaw riff raff with be flying on.”

Blaise smirked. “Ah, Draco,” he drawled, “you’re forgetting, perhaps, that it isn’t the  _ type _

of broom that matters but how you  _ use _ it.”

The rest of the boys snickered, and Draco thankfully shut up.  

“Johnson scores again! Hogwarts, 260, Durmstrang, 110.” 

“We’re up by 150!” Ron cried gleefully, slurping down the remainder of his slushie. “Even if Krum catches it now, he can only tie the game.” 

“What happens if the game ties?” Hermione asked. 

“There’ll be a shoot out.”

“What’s that?”

“Each team gets three shots, divided among the Chasers however they want. Usually that breaks ties, but if it doesn’t, they go into sudden death mode where each team alternates shooting on each other. The first team to miss loses.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. I have faith in our people, but Durmstrang also has a higher chance at eeking out a

victory from a Chaser shootout than they are to bypass our lead.”

“Flint to Johnson, Johnson back to Flint, Flint to Moran...Krum goes into a dive!”

Ron swore. “Merlin damn it, he’s seen the Snitch!”

“Maybe Harry will get there first?”   
“No, he’s too far away. He’s making a good effort though.” 

“Krum has possibly spotted the Snitch,” the announcer continued. “Hogwarts Chasers

continue to advance the Quaffle down the Pitch…”  

Hermione watched in horror as Krum reached out his hand, fingers grasping…

“Flint scores! And Krum has caught the Snitch! Hogwarts wins by just ten points, 270 to 260!” 

The second year Slytherins stared at each other, scarcely believing what had just happened. 

“Bloody hell!” shouted Goyle. “We won!” 

They exploded into cheers and laughter. Around the stadium, people burst into shouts of joy or tears. The Gryffindors, predictably, started up a victory chant. 

“Hogwarts! Hogwarts! Hogwarts!”

Hermione joined in, pumping her hand in the air. 

“HOGWARTS! HOGWARTS! HOGWARTS!”

Hermione grinned ear to ear. This truly was the best day ever.

* * *

 

_ Later that day, at an undisclosed location… _

 

“And you are telling me that Granger nearly single-handedly revealed an international celebrity to be a fraud?”

“Yes, auntie.” 

“And you are absolutely certain of this?”

“Yes.” 

“Hmm. Perhaps she will be of greater utility than I initially thought. Continue to keep a close eye on her.”

The girl nodded. “Of course.”

 


	24. Plotting, and such

# 

 

_ Chambers of the Wizengamot _

_ Ministry of Magic, London, England _

_ 30 April 1993 _

 

“Lord Flitwick, you have been recognized for a speaking time that shall not exceed one minute and thirty seconds.” 

Thomas ignored Felton Flitwick as the old wizard slowly made his way to the speaker stand. The Wizengamot session was nearly over, with only Lords Hufflepuff, Gamp, and Burke remaining in the moderated caucus. Bartholomew Smith, the current Lord Hufflepuff, was a terrible bore, and Thomas was certainly better served by ignoring the entirety of his speech as well, especially since it was regarding a rather minor resolution on the budget of the Auror corps. Cygnus Greengrass was sponsoring the paper, and Thomas had already read it over and determined it was satisfactory.

“Lord Hufflepuff, you have been recognized for a speaking time that shall not exceed one minute and thirty seconds.”

Bartholomew Smith strutted over to the podium and began nattering on about the

importance of saving Galleons where ever possible. Thomas resisted his urge to roll his eyes. The man was quite clearly an idiot, and had no true understanding of the innermost workings of the Ministry and the economics of the Wizarding World. The remaining speeches passed quickly, with Lord Gamp emphasizing the need for more accountability within the Auror Corps, and Lord Burke offering vague support for the resolution. 

“Are there any points or motions on the floor?” the Moderator asked. 

Thomas lit his wand tip. 

“Lord Gaunt?”

“Motion to adjourn,” Thomas said smoothly. 

“The motion is accepted. Are there any more points or motions at this time? Seeing none, we will vote. All those in favor, light your wands.”

Each active Lord and each of the seven appointed positions raised their wands.

“All those opposed?” the Moderator asked as a formality. “The motion has passed. The session is adjourned.” The Moderator rapped his gavel sharply, and everyone stood. Thomas stretched for a moment, then made his way over to Lucius. 

“Scintillating debate today, eh?” the blond wizard said wryly.  

Thomas smirked. “Indeed. Would you care for tea, Lucius? There is a matter I wish to

discuss with you.”

“Should I alert Thaddeus?”

“No, Lord Nott’s presence will not be necessary today. There are some things that must be kept...secret.” 

“Ah.” 

They walked in silence up to the Atrium before Floo’ing to the Gaunt House. Thomas snapped his fingers. “Mimsy!”

A house elf popped into view and bowed. “Mimsy is here. What would sirs be needing today?”

“The usual tea service shall suffice. We will take it in my office.” 

The elf disappeared. 

“You are going to be delighted with the information I recently stumbled upon,” Thomas began as they ascended the stairs. 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Is it about the location of our Lord?”

“Some of it.”

“ _ Some _ of it?” 

“Well, I suppose one can say that I have done more than my usual share of investigating lately.” 

“I see.”

Thomas motioned to the door. “After you.” 

They settled themselves into the office, Thomas taking a seat behind his desk and Lucius settling into his favorite green armchair. Seconds later, a tea tray popped into existence. 

“Earl Grey for me, I see, and chai tea for you,” Thomas mused, taking his mug. “Brewed to perfection.” 

Lucius accepted his mug. “So you were telling me…” 

Thomas sipped his tea. “About the information I received, yes. Tell me Lucius,” he began, steepling his fingers. “What would you say if I told you I knew how to liberate Travers, Rookwood, Mulciber, and Dolohov from Azkaban?”

Lucius stared. “What?”

Thomas leaned back, savouring the other man’s startled expression. “Of course, this is all hypothetical, but what would you say if I told you I knew how to liberate Travers, Rookwood, Mulciber, and Dolohov from Azkaban?”

“I would say it was impossible; however, I am always willing to be enlightened.” 

Thomas smiled sharply. “Did you know Travers didn’t have a trial? Rookwood, Mulciber, and Dolohov  _ technically _ did, but proper legal proceedings weren’t followed.” 

“I see, and certainly the new trials may be...persuaded to rule in our favour.”

Thomas shrugged elegantly. “Perhaps. But first, I will increase the public’s sympathy for our cause.”

“And how will you manage that?”

“Simple. Your wife’s cousin, Sirius Black.”

“Sirius Black?”

“Indeed. The man had no trial, and is innocent. I can’t imagine the public will be too pleased about our legal system after that particular detail comes to light.” 

Lucius frowned. “There’s no hope for Pettigrew, then?”

“Yes. He’s outlived his usefulness.”

“Ah, he found the Dark Lord.” 

Thomas nodded. “Yes, in Andorra. I cannot fathom how or why he went there, but Pettigrew found him nonetheless.”

“Are they coming back by Portkey?”

“No. The Dark Lord isn’t stable enough for that sort of travel, so Pettigrew will have to

smuggle him in over the border. Once the Dark Lord is back in our presence, we can start making motions towards freeing our brethren.” 

“Travers will be useful,” Lucius mused. “Our side will benefit from an additional Wizengamot vote. It’s a pity that the Lestranges cannot be freed -- as psychotic and vile I find them, we’d be granted yet another vote if they were outside of Azkaban’s walls.” 

“Mm. You went to school with Sirius Black?”

“Yes. He was several years behind me.” 

“What was he like?”

Lucius thought for a moment. “He was intelligent enough, although much of that was

mitigated by his impulsivity. He was quick to form a grudge against those who opposed him -- Severus crossed wands against Black and his little gang countless times during their years at Hogwarts.” 

“Charming. Now, tell me Lucius, how do you think Black will feel about Dumbledore after spending thirteen years falsely imprisoned after the man was one of the key figures preventing him from having a trial?”

Lucius smiled. “You think we can recruit him?”

“It’s a distinct possibility. If anything, we can ensure that he won’t support Dumbledore. The man conspired with Barty Crouch Sr. to pull numerous strings to ensure that Black didn’t get a trial. Given Dumbledore’s politics and what he thought of Black at the time, it wasn’t a terrible decision. If Black had truly been the Dark Lord’s right hand man, he could have easily bought himself a lighter sentence or escaped judgement entirely. 

“However, as we know, that was not the case. You and Narcissa will be key to bringing Black back into the fold -- act concerned, provide him with aid, support, a secure room in St. Mungo’s if that’s required. Make him at least grudgingly grateful to you. We can keep our knowledge of the Dark Lord to ourselves for now, no need to scare Black off or let the information out before He is fully corporal.” 

Lucius nodded. “Understood. There’s another wonderful detail about Sirius Black.”

“Pray tell.”

“He’s Harry Potter’s godfather.” 

Thomas took a moment to digest that particular tidbit. “That makes keeping Black out of Dumbledore’s camp of paramount importance. If Potter can be kept away from Dumbledore...well, you know how the Dark Lord and I feel about Potter.” 

“Of course. If we can use Potter to further our goals, then more power to us. If not...school age boys are often accident-prone.” 

“Indeed. And as for Black, if he is not conducive to our goals, well, an unfortunate, tragic accident can be arranged. Hector Mulciber and Antonin Dolohov have never been the most stable of individuals, even before Azkaban, and Pettigrew could be out for revenge. Your son is next in line for the Black seat, so regardless of what Black does, we will have that vote firmly back under our control.” 

“I will work with Draco on that. His behavior has been less than ideal of late.”

“So you have told me.” 

“Narcissa and I are working on contingency plans.” 

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Really.”

“I hope I will not have to implement them, but should the cause require them, I will be ready.” 

Thomas smiled, shark-like, and raised his tea mug. “To the Dark Lord.” 

“May we ever prosper, and may His wisdom light our path.” 

They clinked their mugs together.

“For the brethren.”

* * *

 

_ Great Hall _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 30 May 1993 _

 

“So Weasley,” Malfoy sneered, clearly still bitter about Ron’s epic win during the quarterfinals of the Hogwarts Chess Tournament, “are you still slaving away at that pathetic pub job of yours this summer?” 

Ron blinked, trying to figure out how in the name of Merlin Malfoy figured out about his job at the Muddy Hippogriff. “No, I’m not.”

Malfoy looked surprised. “Did your stupid fat mother finally get to work?”

Ron stared at him coldly. “You will not speak of my mother that way,” he said tightly. 

“Or you’ll do what?” Malfoy challenged.

“For starters, I’ll make sure you never play on the Slytherin House team,” Ron said. “I’ll continue to prove you to be an idiot, and I’ll accomplish whatever other petty vengeances I can think of. If you aren’t intimidated by that, just imagine what Fred and George will do when I tell them about what you said.” Ron raised an eyebrow cockily. “And, if that’s not enough, I’ll get Percy to tell your father you were slandering a member of an Ancient and Noble House.” 

Malfoy paled, then pasted a pretentious expression back onto his face. “Like you’re going to prove me an idiot.”

“I seem to be doing that now.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. “Well, then,” Malfoy sniffed. “Did your stupid pub job kick you out?”

Ron resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Really, Malfoy was going to harp on the fact that Ron worked  _ again _ ? 

“No, they didn’t,” he said shortly. “Not that there’s any shame in working, anyway. At least I’m helping my family, while you only bring disgrace to yours. If you really must know, I applied for and was accepted into Gringotts’ Junior Cursebreaking Program.” 

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” 

“You cheated.”

“You’ll find I didn’t.”

“You --”

“Just shut up,” Ron said irritably. “I’m tired of talking to you.”

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, but Blaise beat him to it. 

“Yeah, Draco, we’re tired of hearing the sound of your voice. Do be quiet.” 

Ron grinned. “So, Harry, what are you up to this summer?”

“Well, in August I’m going to a Quidditch training camp…”

* * *

 

_ Office of Albus Dumbledore _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland _

_ 30 May 1993 _

 

Albus sighed. Another year, gone. Another DADA professor to replace. The Board of Governors was sure to crack down harder on Albus’ selection process this year, and he would need to make sure that everything was done by the book. Putting the issue to the side for the moment, Albus summoned the prefect nomination letters. Each Head of House nominated one or two students for each prefect position, and Albus made the final decision. Looking briefly through the letters now, it appeared that three out of the four new male prefects would be a shoo-in -- Cedric Diggory would do great things for Hufflepuff, Euan McGonagall would lead well in Gryffindor, and Barclay Urquhart would be more than an adequate choice for Slytherin. Ravenclaw had two good candidates who Albus would have to evaluate later on. On the ladies’ side, there were only two shoo-ins -- Hestia Carrow for Slytherin and Aoife Moran for Ravenclaw. The rest of the prefects would need to be closely reviewed, and Albus placed the nomination letters to the side. He had more pressing information to deal with at the moment.

Albus summoned his Pensieve and withdrew a small bottle from his robes. Tipping the memories into the carved stone dish, he plunged his face in, and fell. 

_ It was dark in the alleyway, and rats skittered in the corners. Rubbish littered the ground, and was disturbed when a man appeared with a slight pop. The rats scattered, and a shadow peeled himself off a wall.  _

_ “Ralph.” _

_ “Mundungus. What the bloody hell do you want?” _

_ The shadowy figure shrugged, and coins clinked. “The usual.” _

_ ‘Ralph’ shifted. “There are rumors of Mulciber.” _

_ “ _ Mulciber _?”  _

_ ‘Ralph’ nodded. “I won’t say more here, but consider yourself warned.” _

_ “Where did you hear that?” Mundungus demanded, but ‘Ralph’ had already disapparated. Mundungus swore prolifically, then the scene faded away. _

Albus spiraled gently upward before arriving back at his desk, a frown firmly in place. The only Muciber he knew of was safely ensconced in Azkaban -- and for a very good reason. Hector Mulciber had been one of Lord Voldemort’s most ardent followers, and a truly disgusting specimen of humanity who delighted in the torture and murder of muggles. With numerous connections to the criminal underworld, Mulciber was a dangerous man and one who absolutely deserved his life sentence. Since there was no way to break out of Azkaban, Albus was confident that Dung’s informant had been mistaken.

Although…

Albus froze, mind jumping ahead. Mulciber had been one of the Death Eaters who hadn’t had a trial. There was certainly enough evidence to convict him, but he had been one of the many wizards rushed into prison. Come to think of it, several other Death Eaters had met similar fates -- Edwin Travers, Augustus Rookwood, Antonin Dolohov, and Sirius Black, to name a few. A shiver ran down Albus’ spine. If there were talks in the criminal underworld about Mulciber, then there must be a plan in the works to release him from Azkaban. 

Who could stand to benefit? The question circled around Albus’ mind. Who in their right mind would release Mulciber, along with several other loathsome Death Eaters? Only one man’s name came to mind, one that had troubled Albus for several years now: the enigmatic, and increasingly concerning Lord Thomas Gaunt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks goes out to my beta readers, Scintilla of Myself and Aima D. Duragon. Also, thanks to everyone who has commented, left kudos, or subscribed to this fic. Your support helps inspire me to write more. 
> 
> Chapter one of volume three has just been posted. :)


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